Ætharr of Calador, Book 1 The Rise of Calador
by Bob Stage
Summary: Ætharr is the heir to a clan whose system is based on the feudal system of Saxon England. Judos is an otter looking for his vengeance. Lord Oakfur of Salamandastron struggles to unite his three sons.
1. Prologue & Chapter 1

**Ætharr of Calador**

I don't own Redwall

Book 1: the rise of Calador Prologue 

Ætharr the weasel waited.

The adder was coming towards him, slithering, hissing.

Ætharr was a formidable weasel, half-grown as he was. Tall, muscular, swift. Many weasels in the clan claimed he would become double what his father was.

The adder rose higher, dwarfing the young weasel. It attempted to hypnotize Ætharr, but strong will power was protecting him.

He was armed with two long single-bladed battleaxes, along with a number of small throwing hatchets. He fancied he could fight alongside a few of his father's best fighters.

Ætharr waited, seeking the chance that he would use against the snake.

The adder's chance came first. It lunged with breathtaking speed, aiming for the weasel's neck.

The bite never landed. Ætharr writhed out of the way with speed he always underestimated. Drawing out a hatchet, he buried it in the body, nearly severing the head.

"Well done."

Ætharr spun round.

Ferric, the youngest and most trusted of Ætharr's father's captains, or theigns, lounged near a tree, fingering an arrow on his longbow. Ferric was a weasel like Ætharr. The whole Calador tribe were weasels.

Ætharr liked Ferric. He was an expert shot, but could also wield a sword as good as anyone.

Ætharr's father, Ællear, was the chief of the Calador tribe, one of several different tribes in the area. The Caladors were an all weasel force that focused on survival. To do that, they needed an army that was always ready to defend their land. Ætharr's far ancestor, Æja, realised he needed warriors. So he began welding together a clan that was not like other vermin. Deserters, thieves, and other sorts of crimes were severely punished, desertion being the highest punishment, which was death. Officers and soldiers alike were made to march long miles while carrying huge haversacks full of equipment. Reforms and improvements were made over the seasons, and by the reign of Æja's grandson, the Calador army, or the fyrd, possessed a soldiering drill that rivalled the fighting hares of Salamandastron themselves.

Now, many years later, Ællear commanded a clan that had been hardened by heavy drill and border wars. As a result of these factors, the Caladors were bigger and stronger than most weasels. However, the biggest difference was that they were true fighters. They were not cowardly bullies, they were warriors who gave no quarter and would rather die than surrender.

Ferric and Ætharr headed back to Æthelly, the biggest settlement in Calador. It was a large fort, with bastions and walls of stone and timber. And it was also a city, home to tenth of the Calador tribe. The rest were spread into walled villages, minor forts, and a few remote towns in the hills. All settlements had a beacon, which they lit if an invasion force was coming.

Ætharr bade Ferric farewell, and headed to the hall. It was the most important part of the fort; the place of feasting, council, and it signified that the lord was a great one.

Ealdor Ællear was a weasel still in his prime, but with greying fur. He had countless scars on his body from battles fought against other clans, otters and squirrels, and even the Gousim, the Guerrilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower. He was his son's hero, and tutor.

"Ah, my son. Back so soon?" Ællear nodded gruffly at the young weasel.

Ætharr nodded, "I have slain an adder, as you said was part of my training."

Ællear nodded solemnly, "I would not have assigned it to you if I thought you couldn't do it.' He beckoned to a table upon which lay a roast bird and a flagon of cool spring water.

Ætharr, after he had eaten his fill, went looking for his closest friends.

They were in a tavern, sipping at fresh cordial. They laughed when Ætharr sat down.

Horal was a heavy-set weasel, a few seasons older than Ætharr. Many would underestimate him due to his appearance, yet he was the fastest sword beast that Ætharr knew.

Ædall was Ætharr's cousin, and in many ways, his twin brother. They had been born in the same hour; they resembled each other perfectly, and fought with the same weapons.

Jinn was the youngest, and slyest of them all. He could detect anything in any situation. On top of that, he was a skilled shot, preferring knife throwing, but could also hit a moth in flight with his shaft.

The three of them jeered at the story of his slaying the adder, and offered up a toast in cheering of the deed.

Jinn smiled at his friend, "So, what's next on yer agenda?"

Ætharr shrugged, whereupon Ædall questioned, "Maybe it's cos yore done."

Horal waved a contemptuous paw, "Aw, 'e's only beginning. Mark my words, he'll have to actually be in a fight."

Ætharr anticipated that: to actually fight in a battle. He had long admired the scarred fighters who earned their glory and honour in war. He was determined to get his chance.

Horal went to his hovel on the north side of Æthelly, which was where many soldiers had their homes. That left the remaining three to enjoy the few hours left before the sunset.

Ætharr did not go with the rest when they went off for their homes. He stayed at the tavern, purchasing a room from the weasel in charge.

He rested his head on the cheap straw bed. He had grown used to a rough surface. His own quarters were barely better. It was not due to a shortage of wealth- most of the Calador population had grown wealthy, due to plunder and trade- it was so none grew accustomed to a soft living. That was very important, as without their toughness, they were doomed to destruction.

He closed his eyes. He had been scared of the adder, but he had desperately concealed that fear. That was what a good fighter did; learn to stop fear from overwhelming you. The best warriors were either very calm in battle, or they were possessed of a battle fury. Both ways were the ways a fighter survived fights.

Ætharr suddenly felt triumphant. He had successfully put it out of the way.

In this thrill, he knew that there was still much to learn.

The next day, it was a blood-red sun that crept onto a pink sky. The clouds were laced with a tinge of gold. The trees were still dark, yet the tops were beginning to brighten with the day.

Ætharr watched it all with foreboding. Red sun rises. Blood will be spilt.

Ædall and his father, Ælfer, came looking for Ætharr. Ætharr did not like his uncle Ælfer; he looked far too sly, as though he was always hiding a deep secret.

Ælfer spoke to him now, "Your father wants to see you. You and he are going to the Millar territory."

Ætharr was surprised, but not shocked. The Millar clan was the Calador's bitterest enemy, and Ællear had gone to raid them many times. Perhaps this was no different.

So it was that Ætharr, Ællear, Ferric, and fourteen others headed for the territory of the Millar vermin.

The Millar consisted of rats and stoats. A rabble compared to the might of the Caladors, yet they fought savagely enough.

Ællear motioned at his son, "You will not fight. You will observe, watch the warriors fight."

Ætharr felt bitter, but relented. He was not as experienced as Ferric and the fighters.

They neared the end of their territory. Ællear smiled, drew his sword, and announced quietly, "This is it. Where the Calador ends, and the Millar begins. Let us go in fast and co-"

He said no more, for an arrow filled his mouth, and two more entered his chest.

Ætharr screamed, and was hit with an arrow in the side. Ferric, an arrow in his paw, pulled the heir to Ealdor Ællear to the ground. Many others were not as rapid. They were hit with arrows, and those wounded turned to see a yelling horde of savage Millar clan beasts.

Only Ferric, Ætharr, and four others managed to duck the arrows, and they slowly crept away. Their companions died, and they survived.

Crouching in the brush, each one of them terrified of discovery, they listened to the jeers and laughter of the stoats and rats as they plundered the bodies of the Ealdor, and his retainers, oblivious of the six survivors inching away to escape.

Ætharr wept as he crawled. His father was dead; he would never rest in peace, and he was an orphan. His mother had died long ago, taken in a border raid. Ællear, from that day, had insisted to lead each and every one of the raids the Caladors committed. It was now his own undoing.

When they had crawled far enough away, Ferric and a weasel named Burg bandaged everyone.

Ætharr, tears still coursing down his cheeks, glared at Ferric, "I'm going back to pay them hell twice over!"

Ferric sighed, "Ealdor, it's too risky."

Ætharr almost sobbed, "Y-you called me Ealdor."

Ferric looked at him, and slowly kneeling, he and the four others knelt and declared their allegiance to the new Ealdor.

Ætharr wiped his eyes, and he seemed to look older, more mature, calm. He drew one of his axes, which he had been able to wield for only a season now, and drew his paw across the sharp edge, "The Millar clan has started a blood feud with the Caladors this day! I will live to see them hunted down and stamped out of existence. I promise so with my oath!"

Ferric and the others did not doubt it.

They spent another two days there, waiting for wounds to heal, and to plan to get out of the danger of the raiders.

One night, Ætharr woke to shouts. Recognizing a voice, he bellowed at all creatures to halt.

When they had lit torches, Ætharr could see his three friends at the head of thirty-six soldiers and their families.

Ædall looked really grim, "Ætharr, where is your father?"

Ætharr paused, and shook his head, "We were ambushed."

Ædall threw down his sword in bitterness, "Damn it to hell gates!" he sat down with his head in his paws.

Jinn's face was even grimmer than Ædall's as he explained, "Your uncle made a deal with the Millar. He would deliver the position and forces of your father to them, and they would kill him. He's claimed the Ealdorship as his own."

Ætharr felt a sudden grief and anger, and he howled his misery to the heavens. His own uncle! The Ealdor's brother! He should have paid heed to the signs of the red sun. He should have said something.

Horal dug his spear butt in the ground, "We are sworn to you Ealdor Ætharr!"  
The entire gathering pledged themselves to serve the real Ealdor, and no other.

Ætharr scanned the group. Excluding himself, his friends, the families, and Ferric, he commanded forty Caladors. There was also Tran, the teacher of Ætharr.

Ferric gestured at the old teacher, "Ealdor, if you are to secure your position, you must complete your lessons. The ability to read and write is essential to the Ealdor. Also, I will train you to fight, as will we all."

Ætharr nodded, "We will build a fort in the swamp east of here. We'll be undetected for longer time." To stay in a village is too dangerous. Ælfer will have spies, and Millars rampaging freely across the land.

They headed for the swamp the next morning, arriving in the afternoon. The swamp was covered in a mist, which would be perfect camouflage. On a piece of firm ground, a wooden palisade was built, which was reinforced with stones. A little hall was built, and a barracks. Several small houses were made.

He went to Ædall one day, "Why did you come to me instead of becoming your father's heir?"

Ædall looked at him for a minute, "Because it wouldn't have been right. Your father was the Ealdor, and yore the Ealdor now."

That was how Ætharr of Calador became the Ealdor in exile.

1

7 Seasons Later,

Extracts from Brother Gores, Redwall Abbey Recorder, 

_The seasons seem to fly especially fast in your elder years. And I am now quite old! The seasons are now too many to count. It has been a long and good life, though. Seeing Raga, our Abbey Warrior, grow from a mischievous Dibbun into a mature and responsible leader of the peace. There is also an old friend of mine, Abbot Varrus, who has been the otter to become an Abbot in the history of Redwall, not counting Abbess Mhera. Between the three of us and Mother Sara, our Mother Badger, we form the core of the Abbey Council. And our Abbey is a positively booming beehive! There is always someone to turn to for a job. Ah, yes, that was it! I have forgotten that it is my turn to watch over the Dibbuns. Such youngsters truly burst with energy, but it is worth seeing them laugh and play._

Brother Gores went up from his writings, and headed down to Cavern Hole, the dining area and meeting spot for Redwallers.

Mother Sara was there with some thirty babes, or Dibbuns, as they were called in Redwall. There was an assortment of otters, mice, moles, squirrels, and hedgehogs, with a pair of vole twins.

Sara was an old female badger, but it did not stop her being as feared as she was loved by the Dibbuns. She was a strong creature, but also had a big heart.

"Finally, you're here. These young rips are just getting more restless by the minute." Sara chuckled, and went off to her duties.

Brother Gores bent down to talk to the Dibbuns, "I suppose you all know the rules when going berry picking?"

The Dibbuns cheered back, "We do, Bruvver Goes!"

Jul, a baby mouse, jumped up and down, "We go berry pickin! We go berry pickin!

Brother Gores smiled at the Dibbun talk, "Well, let's get going, then!"

The cheering Dibbuns ceased to stop cheering as they went out the door. Brother Gores led them in a song as they walked.

_Oh Daisy was a lonely fly_

_She buzzed around for friends_

_But who out there would ever want _

_To make a fly their friend?_

_So Daisy stayed a lonely fly_

_And buzzed her life away,_

_So heed this song if ever,_

_A fly comes buzzing your way!_

The Dibbuns laughed at the last line, especially as the vole twins were busy swatting at the pestering bugs.

At the berry patch, the Dibbuns scattered among the bushes. Soon, their faces were purple, red, and blue from the colourful berries.

Brother Gores smiled, and started filling baskets.

One of the Dibbuns came running up, "Bruvva Goes! Ninia is stug!"

Brother Gores jumped up, "Ninia's been stung?"

The Dibbun nodded furiously and led him to where Ninia, a baby mole, was clutching her paw, sobbing.

Brother Gores was used to this, and took some salve from the pouch he always wore round his waist.

When Ninia was treated, Brother Gores went back to the baskets to find them gone.

Utterly surprised, Gores could only gape in astonishment. Surely the Dibbuns could not have done this! He had seen each and every one of them round Ninia.

Suddenly a giggle erupted from the treetop the Recorder mouse was standing under. Looking up, Brother Gores guessed who it was, "Jander, you impudent rogue, if you wish to fool me, you should never make it obvious to me that you are hiding nearby."

He held out his paws as two stacked baskets fell down. Laughing, Brother Gores set them down. Also laughing, a big squirrel dressed in a deep brown tunic jumped out of the tree, balancing two half-filled baskets.

Jander was a wanderer of Mossflower. He knew every scrap of news that travelled through the forest, as he often delivered it firsthand. He had grown up in Redwall, and held it in his heart to visit the place many times.

Brother Gores smiled up at the tough looking squirrel, "How goes it with your wanderings, Jander?"

Jander smiled, "Oh, I've been round. Ran into the Gousim a few times, and they're all good fellows. Was about to go to Redwall, when I saw you and them nippers."  
Remembering the Dibbuns, Brother Gores turned to take a head count. Instead of thirty-two Dibbuns, there were only thirty Dibbuns.

Ashen-faced, he turned to Jander, "Two are missing!"

Jander's face lost all its mirth. Like an arrow, he was up the tree, scanning the landscape. "I don't see them yet."

Brother Gores rounded up the rest of the Dibbuns and take them back. Jander continued to search for them.

Leaping from tree to tree, the strong, agile squirrel's eyes were barely on what he was doing. He had become so used to it that he had no more need to give his full attention to climbing.

Jander scanned the land, picking up as much movement as possible. And then he saw them: the two missing youngsters.

'Judos and Mellor again.' Jander smiled. They were always wandering off. He smiled and swung towards them.


	2. Chapter 2

2

Judos the otter and Mellor the hedgehog were the oldest of the Dibbuns: almost ready to take more adult-like responsibility. However, it would be a while yet if the two of them continued to be misbehaving.

"Brother Gores will be worrying by now," Judos said.

"Well, let him worry for once. It can't be a crime to want to go somewhere else for a change." Mellor said angrily. They had often been sent to cleaning out the Abbey cellars and kitchens.

Judos took a deep breath and breathed out exultantly, "Ah! I am going to enjoy this freedom!"

Mellor grinned, "Aye and we'll never have to go back home again."

Judos paused and looked at the fast-moving river to the side of them, "There's something in there."

Mellor also looked, "Aye, the fish of course."

Judos' swift eyes caught another bit of movement, "No, it's something else!"

On cue, a brawny otter rose from the water, "Ahoy, there. Where're you going?"

It was Skipper, the leader of a large otter clan and a dear friend of Redwall. As he spoke, five other otters popped up and tut-tutted at the common sight of the two rebellious Redwallers.

Skipper folded his arms and cast a beady eye on the two of them, "Escaped again? What makes you keep trying to run away?"

Judos glared at the bigger otter, "We'd stop trying if you'd stop catching us and bringing us back."

Just at that moment, Jander arrived, leaping out of the nearest tree, "Aha! Thanks Skipper, I've been looking for them young 'uns."

Skipper smiled at his old friend, "Aye, messmate. I'll help you bring them back."

Judos and Mellor scowled heavily, and Skipper winked at them cheerfully.

After a half day of retracing Judos' and Mellor's steps, Redwall Abbey was in sight. Mellor paused and shook his bristled back in frustration.

Abbott Varrus was an old otter, dressed in a well-worn habit. Lines creased the Abbott's face, and his fur was silver.

He looked down at the two misbehaviours with an almost sad look, "Judos and Mellor. This is yet another time when I am forced to come and discipline you."

Judos and Mellor tried to look defiant, but the wise Father of Redwall made them feel foolish.

Mother Sara growled, "I agree with the Abbott. This has been happening far too many times for my liking. I fail to see why you never cease in your wild attempts to run off."

Judos was tempted to speak, "We want to go somewhere else." He could not say anything more.

"And what drives you so intensely?" Varrus enquired, as though he was interested to find out what these rapscallions wanted.

"We want to control our decisions!" Mellor said, "We want to be free from-"

"-Free from what? The creatures who care for you like the Abbott and Sara here?' Skipper wondered sarcastically. 'These creatures are not enslaving you."

"Well then why keep us here, then?" Mellor challenged.

"Because you are far too young to go into the real world. It is far more dangerous than you think." Abbott Varrus said with a sigh.

The two youngsters clearly did not get the message. However, they did know when they were defeated. Responding to Mother Sara's beckoning claw, they went to their latest punishment.

Jander shook his head when they were gone, "They do have a point. If they want to leave, let them. I did, didn't I?"

Varrus gave Jander a wry smile; "You were a responsible adult when you left."  
Jander shrugged, "Nearly an adult. I grew much bigger out there."  
Skipper and the otters grinned.

Brother Gores looked where the two troublemakers had been taken, "Someday they will need to face the real world, and I hope to the seasons that they will be ready for it."

Varrus bowed slightly to Jander and Skipper, "Thank you for bringing them here. They will only make rash decisions on their own, and it could get them killed."

Skipper shrugged, "I was on my way to Redwall here anyway. I have some news for you."

Abbott Varrus looked attentive, "So?"

Skipper related what he had seen, "Lord Oakfur of Salamandastron and his sons have suspicion that there's something going on that's out of order among the vermin clans. He advises us to stay alert."

Varrus nodded, "Oakfur is a friend of mine. His sons are also familiar with me. We would do well to follow their advice."

Brother Gores did not understand, "Vermin clans?"

"There's a wide stretch of land between Salamandastron and Mossflower that belongs to several different clans of vermin who normally don't war on each other too heavily. But something's been going on of late. Seems a powerful clan's been taken over. Oakfur sent us a warning in case. They're supposed to be strong, and fierce in battle."

Raga, the warrior mouse of Redwall, bearing the sword of Martin the Warrior, came up just as this was said. He snorted, "Vermin are vermin. Bullies, cowards, nothing more."

Jander agreed with him, "Don't know why Oakfur is gettin' all jittery about some packs of vermin."

Varrus shrugged, "You never know. Cowardice never stopped Cluny the Scourge's horde from attacking us so many seasons before. We should be cautious."

Raga drew the fabulous sword of Martin. It was as legendary as the spirit of Martin itself. Made out of a star that fell from the sky and forged by Badger Lord of Salamandastron, the sword was a great treasure, and the symbol of the Abbey Warrior.

Raga placed it point first between his feet, "Well if they try and attack us, we will be ready for it."

Everyone there agreed with the strong warrior.

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

Salamandastron was an extinct volcano of impossible age. Hares and Badger Lords had dwelled in it, denying the coast to roving vermin. Badger lore and prophesy hung on Salamandastron like a deep dark fog.

Oakfur had been the Lord of Salamandastron for more seasons than he could remember. He had been a mighty warrior, full of strength and guile.

Now he was old: far too old to match his strength of his youth. His sinews and muscles were wearing down. He had always been thick set, yet now he was beginning to gain some belly. He now had three strong sons to lead the Long Patrol of Salamandastron, consisting of fighting hares.

Roaveen was the eldest, the one to become Badger Lord after his father. He was a mirror of Oakfur in his prime. Leverets on the mountain claimed that none could best Roaveen in sword fighting. War was his passion, and he was good at it.

Thornback was a husky middle son, more interested in supervising the mountain than in leading its army to war.

Korari was the youngest, and jealous of his oldest brother. He longed the glories of war, and battle, not understanding the true meaning of it.

Oakfur loved them all, and had great expectations of Roaveen as Ruler of the Mountain. But he was concerned about his younger sons.

Thornback was no warrior and Korari was too headstrong. They resented their older brother. He could be a bit of a bully, true, and he would inherit Salamandastron, but Oakfur felt that Thornback and Korari could learn to accept that. The bullying was merely a phase, and it would pass.

Korari was, at present, practising his archery. The longbows of Salamandastron were immense, but the badgers' were even bigger to match the huge strength and size of them.

However, Korari was only half-grown, and still had trouble with the hare longbow.

At present, the young badger was gritting his teeth in frustration as he continually missed the target. Roaveen happened to pass by, and paused as he gazed at the half dozen arrows scattered on the rocks.

Korari, made a little nervous by his brother present, fumbled his shaft even worse. To hear his brother's guffaw made him flush with embarrassment and anger, "Let's see you do better!"

Roaveen raised his eyebrow and suppressed even more laughter. He stepped forward, and took the bow from his brother's grasp. Aiming carefully, he put a shaft right into the centre. "Now, that's more like it."

Korari grew even angrier in the face of Roaveen's scorn, "I'm still practising, I'm getting better!"

Roaveen held up his paws in mock surprise, "Whoa, easy there! Just teasing you!" He clapped Korari's shoulder and laughed.

This was too much for him. Korari ran forward and slammed into his brother's chest. Roaveen fell backward, a look of shock on his striped face.

Korari stared as Roaveen got up, his look now unreadable. He braced himself for the punch that would almost always come up.

Still, Roaveen did nothing. His eyes were misty, and he was unaware of his little brother. His mouth opened slightly.

Korari was stunned when he realised that Roaveen was hearing the voices of the Badger Lords of the past, telling him his fate. Or someone else's fate.

Suddenly, Roaveen spoke in an unearthly voice,

_Father and three sons,_

_Blood will be shed on _

_Nigh twelve moons_

_Death comes_

_In the form of a conqueror_

_And many will_

_Be consumed in death_

_Beware sons of the Mountain!_

_Beware the warrior!_

Roaveen slowly blinked, and came out of his trance.

"What just happened?"

Korari was terrified, "You've told the future!"

Roaveen was puzzled, "I don't remember anything of it."

Together, they headed into the mountain, Korari recounting the prophesy to his brother.

Oakfur was as mystified as they. He thought of it, and turned to them, "One thing is very clear. War is coming to the mountain."

Roaveen's eyes gleamed with anticipation. Korari felt exhilaration in his chest. Thornback, however, looked sad at the thought of what war did.

Oakfur turned to a haremaid delivering the Badger Lord's usual lunch of fresh bread and Mountain ale, "Lilac, I need you to summon the Long Patrol officers to my forge. Immediately."

Soon, a dozen hares were facing Oakfur and his sons.

Oakfur recited the prediction to his officers. They paused when he was finished for a moment.

Then Jackers, a middle-aged Captain, spoke up, "Well, that's a bally bit of info, wot?"

Colonel Seahawk, an old campaigner with a remarkable vigour even in his old age, raised his bushy eyebrow, "Indeed, it is, Captain, as we all knew. But do we know what it _means_?"

Lieutenant Roselyn, the youngest of the officers, voiced her opinion, "Well, we all know that it's predicting a war that'll come in twelve moons time. And it also seems that someone wants our mountain, wot!"

Oakfur nodded his silver head, "She's right. And it doesn't take a wizard to see that there will be much bloodshed."

Jackers spoke again, "And it's warning your Lordship's offspring about some warrior chap."

All eyes went to Roaveen, Thornback, and Korari. They glanced at each other uncertainly. Who was the warrior? And would he kill one of them?


	3. Chapter 3

3

The fort in the swamp had expanded with time. Families were growing, and new ones were being made. Food was always plentiful, and every day the warriors practised vigorously with weapons.

The seasons had been good to Ætharr. The sadness he felt for his father's passing had turned into a desire for vengeance against the uncle who had taken over.

He had completed his education in all fields. He could read, write, and could figure out basic to medium math problems easily.

And he was a warrior. Over the seasons, he had gone through much growth and gain of muscle. He had two new battleaxes to fit his frame. On his belt hung several throwing hatchets. He dressed in a brown jerkin of fine quality.

Ætharr was ready to lead the Calador fyrd.

At present he was practising with the rest. Horal was his opponent, and even his swordsman skills could not get past the large battleaxes wielded by the able hands of Ætharr.

Beside them, Ferric and Ædall were duelling. Ædall, who had always looked alike to his cousin, was still his twin, except that he used only one double-headed battleaxe. Ferric was on the defensive, dodging Ædall's heavy blows.

A weasel child came running up, weaving through the group of duelling weasels.

He went to Ætharr, "Ealdor, our spy has returned."

Ætharr nodded, signalled to Ferric, Ædall, and Horal. They went to the hall, which served to Calador leaders as not only a dining hall, but as a meeting place. Halls were a symbol of wealth and power.

Jinn was the same as ever. Lean, sly and fast, he could hit a bird's eye out of the air. He nodded meekly in acknowledgement of his friend's authority.

Ætharr smiled, "What news?"

Jinn pulled out a piece of paper. There was a list of names there, "Those are the cronies of Ælfer. All of the theigns support you. They're just waiting for your summons."

Ætharr was glad. The theigns were the ones who led the warriors of their plots of land. Together, they became the fyrd of Calador.

Ætharr knew that all these weasels were either sworn to Ælfer, or they were his personal friends. Most of the soldiers Ælfer had were those of the Millar clan, who roamed freely across the land, too cowardly to raid whole villages, preferring to prey on those caught on their own.

Ætharr put a paw on his friend's shoulder, "Did you give the message to all the theigns?"

Jinn nodded smugly, "They're awaiting your signal to begin. Once that happens, we're ready to end this coup."

Ætharr had a force of forty-seven Calador weasels able to fight, and he would only lead less than half that, as he had realised the strategy of keeping a fort here. It would guard this area of the territory, and a prosperous village could grow as it already had begun to be.

After the meeting, Ætharr gazed west, where somewhere over the forest, meadow, and little villages, the castle of Æthelly stood, containing his treacherous uncle.

Horal came up to him, "You ain't just thinking of Ælfer, are you?"

Ætharr wasn't. He knew of the very many weasels that had fallen in battle with Salamandastron. He was thinking of the strategy advantage in controlling the mountain. He was thinking that they had been humiliated in battle with them long enough. True, they had not battled with them in living memory, yet Ætharr could recite every major battle Calador had won or lost with the Long Patrol.

When he explained these thoughts to his close friends, they did not know what to say. They were not thinking ahead, but the thought of controlling Salamandastron and its coast appealed to them.

Next morning, Ætharr, Ferric, Horal, Jinn, Ædall, and twelve other weasels were ready to march.

Ætharr appointed Vogel, a large, trustworthy beast as garrison leader of the fort. The question of appointing a theign would wait until the fort's population grew beyond its walls, and began building an economy.

The little band progressed north, passing through a small village, which yielded ten weasels for a fight.

Jinn had done his work well. Virtually every theign and weasel of authority knew of the coup, and they welcomed it. Ælfer had disgraced their name by revolting against the rightful Ealdor. He had let Millar bandits roam the land, burning crops and murdering unprotected weasels. Ætharr was becoming a hero among his people. And he was just beginning to earn their respect.

After six days of rallying fighters to his cause, Ætharr was leading three score Calador warriors. And there was promise of many more coming. The theigns had not come yet, which caused worry in the ranks. Jinn, however wore a sly smile, and Ætharr was confident in his friend.

However, even Jinn did not know the size of the forces awaiting them. The list of weasels allied to Ælfer numbered only a score and a half. But thirty weasels would only be the Guard of Ælfer. There would be a horde of Millars, waiting for the upstart who dared reclaim Ealdorship.

Ætharr knew that he could easily defeat them with Calador's fyrd, but Salamandastron was a battle that would require a vast force, and he could not dream of leading the fyrd to the Mountain Stronghold and leaving enough behind to protect Calador from invasion forces.

He needed more warriors. Nothing like the Millar, or any of their kind; he needed strong warriors who would not back down to a chance of their death. He knew of the clans, and the Vireo clan came closest to the army on his mind. They were a motley crew: foxes, ferrets, stoats, weasels, and rats. They were not nearly as organized as the Calador fyrd, but they were savage fighters.

Ætharr and his band were now overlooking Vireo territory, just north of Calador. If they made an alliance, others surely would. Ælfer and his Millars would go down, never to rise again.

A king with the biggest and most powerful following ran the Vireo monarchy. It was crude, but Ætharr knew not to offend his potential ally.

If Ætharr's sixty warriors were concerned about simply walking into Vireo territory, they did not show it, but went fearlessly forward behind their commanders.

So far they encountered no one; just rocks, field, and swamp. If anyone saw them, they ignored them.

Such was the journey for the next two hours. Ætharr knew that something was afoot.

A faint whistling suddenly sounded. Ferric roared, "Shields up!"

A hail of arrows hit the shields of the weasels. A war chant erupted as four-dozen vermin charged, brandishing weapons.

Ætharr drew his axes. He did not want to kill anyone, but if they did not listen, they would have to leave a score of them dead.

Ferric called out, "Halt! We come in peace!"

One of them, a burly, grey-furred fox, bellowed at them to halt. He approached them, snarling, "What d'you want?"

Ædall stared him down, "We want to talk to yore king."

The fox leered, "Anything you want to say to the king, you can say it t'me."

Horal strode up beside Ædall, "Oh yeah? Who are you to say that?"

The fox growled at the insolence coming from the two weasels, "I'm Coldbane, Lord of the southern territory. Nero is my king, and yore trespassin' on Vireo land."

Ætharr approached him, staring expressionlessly into Coldbane's pale eyes. Eventually he put on a humble tone, "I am Ætharr, Rightful Ealdor of Calador. I wish to speak to King Nero."

Coldbane laughed, "Calador, eh? Well, we know what's been goin' on down there."

Ætharr smiled thinly, "Well, are you going to take us to him?"

Coldbane glanced at the grim Calador weasels. Ætharr's thoughts were simple; if he refused, they would leave. What Coldbane didn't think of was the fact that Ætharr had no intention of fighting. Coldbane knew the legendary warriors of Calador, and did not want to fight them. He shrugged, and turned to leave, beckoning them to follow. Ætharr nodded at his followers, and they went behind Coldbane towards the Vireo capital.

Unlike Æthelly, the Vireo capital city was on a hill overlooking a lake. Wooden palisades with sharpened ends surrounded the capital. Unlike Calador, the main building of a city was the tower. A large, squat, square-shaped tower of stone was in the centre of the city. It was where the king had his throne, while upstairs was his chamber. It also served as a refuge if in the event of a siege; the villagers could hide in the cellars beneath the tower.

Ætharr was brought into the throne hall by a courtier and Coldbane. It was lavished with tapestries displaying victories and previous warlords.

Coldbane and the courtier stepped up to the throne and bowed before King Nero.

Nero was a powerfully built ferret with a long scar where his right eye should have been. Silken robes covered the muscular body, and a belt of black leather held a jewelled dagger. Nero's weapon, a long claymore, hung on the wall behind the throne. In short, Nero was a warlord, just the kind of person that Ætharr needed in his war.

Nero got up and looked at the Ealdor in exile. They were two of a kind, in Ædall's opinion as he watched, except that Nero was older, more experienced, just what Ætharr needed in his war.

Nero folded his arms, "I know why you're here, Ætharr of Calador."

"Do you know what I'm going to say?" Ætharr threw the question out there as a challenge.

Nero smiled dangerously, "What could you offer me?"

Ætharr did not smile back, "An alliance."

Nero stopped smiling and thought about it. An alliance had never before been propositioned during the negotiations between clans, and for good reason.

On the other hand, Nero was smart. Smart enough to see that Ætharr was too noble to betray someone he had made an alliance with. Calador leaders had the tendency to inherit that flaw.

Nero looked at him again, "Is there anything else in this deal?"

Ætharr pulled out a map of the clan territories, "The Millar clan has thrown their lot in with my uncle. I plan to destroy them utterly. If you swear upon your life that you and your descendants will honour an alliance between Vireo and Calador, thus assisting me in any war and vice versa, you will get the northern area of the former Millar territory."

Nero was impressed at the boldness in Ætharr's talk. Ætharr was asking for a permanent alliance, where each tribe would assist the other when called for, and as a reward, the Vireo territory would expand by about half.

"Whom do you plan to visit with the promise of alliance and land?"

Ætharr half-smiled briefly, "Oh I'd like a share of the Millar land, too. Only you shall be given land. I have other things to promise." He hoped that last bluff would work. In truth, he had precious little to offer at the moment.

Nero liked what he saw in this rising star. Slowly he beckoned the fox Coldbane to him, as well as a ferret with surprisingly sable fur that Ætharr took to be Blackback, the most trusted and feared of Nero's feudal nobility. Coldbane had mentioned him, and a rat beside Ædall had shuddered when the fox described his cunning and merciless nature in war and justice.

When the two stood before him, he turned on them, "You will witness me now, and will not deny witnessing this act!" He spoke harshly. They nodded.

Ætharr motioned to Ergot, a small, stunted weasel who served as scribe to Ætharr. The weasel had written down the terms of the alliance, the names of the clans involved, and the time period of the alliance on two sheets and was now finishing a third copy.

Ætharr laid the three pages before Nero. Instead of naming the leaders involved, it named the clans, meaning that this was an alliance intended to last throughout eternity. Nero saw it too, but nevertheless signed his mark on all three sheets of paper, and then again on a fourth that Ergot placed before him. Ætharr, being the more literate one, signed his name and title in a flowing script.

Nero put his hand to his heart and gave a solemn oath, stating Vireo's alliance with Calador, and also stating that should any of his descendants break the oath, their lives and family honour were forfeit. Ætharr swore the same oath. Then, two copies were given to the Vireo leader to keep safe, while Ætharr took the other two.

Nero and Ætharr gazed at each other, each one understanding the magnitude of this alliance. Slowly they shook paws in solemn finality of the oath. Blackback and Coldbane also shook paws with Jinn, Horal, Ferric and Ædall as witnesses of the oath.

Ætharr smiled inwardly. His first triumph would not only secure his rightful position as Ealdor, but Calador had gained an ally for life.

The next few weeks were spent in comfort in the Vireo capital. Ætharr and his band of weasels grew strong, and practised with their weapons routinely. Ætharr sent Jinn with a message of the alliance to every theign. He trusted Jinn to ensure the message was secret.

Under the light of the new moon, Ætharr and his band prepared to leave. Nero provisioned them with food and supplies, and sent along Ibos, his heir, as ambassador.

Ætharr bowed humbly before the king, promising to return his son alive, or his life forfeit. Nero wished them all well, and accepted the promise Ætharr made.

The Calador weasels went on the road again, though now accompanied by Ibos, Blackback, Coldbane, and a High Guard of sixty soldiers.

His confidence high from his first triumph, Ætharr was now going to west of Vireo, where a small area of land was the traditional land of the Jeri clan, but was now controlled by Hunan warlords. Ætharr knew that Jeri was not the most useful of the clans, but they alone would be totally loyal.

After he freed them from the iron fist of the Hunan clan.

Explaining this to his comrades, he added to Ibos, "This won't be your fight."

Ibos smiled, "True, but the deal with the alliance was to help each other in a war." The Guard was like of mind. They were ready for a scrap.

Suddenly, shouts erupted from where the sentries were. Knowing that Caladors knew better than to scream when there were enough for them to handle, Ætharr drew his axes. He led the rest in a charge to the aid of the sentries.

Horal, whose turn it had been to supervise the sentries, came running at them, "Wait! Wait!"

Ætharr looked puzzled, "Well then what in the name of Hell's teeth was the screaming for?"

Horal shrugged, "That wasn't us. We scared the hell out o' a score of those un's."

It was a group of fugitives: three martens and their families. They got down before the Ealdor in Exile, gibbering and pleading to spare them.

Ætharr looked at them curiously, "You're all farmers?"

Two of them, eager to cooperate, nodded, while the third nodded more slowly as if trying to comprehend the reason behind the question.

Ætharr nodded back, content. All three of the martens were big-muscled as the result of much hard work in the fields. They also had a few big sons.

Ætharr put his axes aside, "What are your names?"

The three martens gave them: Halfear, Redjaw, and Huorn. "Jeri clan?" They hesitated a moment, then agreed, knowing that lies would be uncovered easily by this warrior.

Ætharr had known they were Jeri, because Jeri was like Calador; it contained beasts of only one kind. Where Calador was a weasel clan, Jeri was a marten clan, the only marten clan. He had merely asked the question to ensure they were honest creatures he could trust.

He stepped forward, "Do you have a ruler other than a Hunan?"

Redjaw squirmed glanced at his family and blurted, "There's a group of resistance fighters. The leader's named Blackaxe. He's the rightful leader. That's all we know. Please don't kill us!"

Ætharr gave a small nod to his band, and pulled the farmers to their feet. Fearing execution, they moaned.

Smiling, the rightful Ealdor patted Huorn's shoulder, "Oh, I wouldn't want to kill you: you can take me to Blackaxe's hideout. I have a proposition for him."

Laughing, Jinn made a mock bow for the families, "Come! Come! My lord Ætharr of Calador is a gracious host, exiled as he is."

Laughing harder than anyone there, Ibos tossed a chestnut to the smallest child, "We've come to end Hunan rule."

Amazement and delight shone on their faces as they were brought into the camp.

Ferric looked at Ætharr, "Blackaxe, eh? A good name."

Ætharr frowned slightly, "Aye. And a lord in exile, too. He'll welcome help at any price, hopefully."

Ædall came up, "Good news. They're going to lead us to Blackaxe."

Ætharr eyed his cousin, "What's he like? Did you ask?"

Ædall nodded, "He's supposedly a large marten that wields the largest battleaxe in the territory. It's supposed to be an emblem, passed from leader to leader."

Ætharr took a throwing hatchet from his belt, testing it on his paw, "Well then, let's restore a leader to his rule."

The next day, the martens gave directions, but at their incomprehension, Redjaw volunteered to lead them to it.

As they walked, Ætharr questioned Redjaw, "If the Hunan clan know where Blackaxe is, why is he still at large?"

Redjaw grinned, "They're scared of him."

Ætharr raised an eyebrow, "Scared?"

Redjaw nodded, "He's got a following of two hun'red or so o' the best warriors among us. He's a great warrior, planning to take over. He's dangerous in war, and they know it."

'A great help in retaking Calador,' Ætharr thought gravely. A solemn feeling consumed him. Blackaxe was in the same position as him. Thinking of that, he thought back to that bloody day where his world changed utterly.

Remembering having to crawl away from the corpse of his father, and his uncle's treachery that caused everything in Ætharr's life from then gave Ætharr such venom of black fury that he managed to suppress.

He _would_ regain his lands, he swore by all hell and earth. He would have revenge for his father. And for himself.


	4. Chapter 4

4

Judos and Mellor sat down wearily. They had been helping out all over the Abbey: cleaning the dishes, sweeping the cellar floor, and so much more, all under the eye of Mother Sara, who shook her head often, finding it a pity that these two should be so monitored.

Mellor looked at her, "Are we finished, Mother Sara?"

The large badger looked for a minute, and nodded. She took them to their dormitories.

As she left, Judos sat up in his bed, "Mellor! It's time."

Mellor looked at him cynically, "Your jesting is annoying, Judos."

Judos beckoned to him, smiling, "Mate, we've been working all day, and Sara knows it. They think we're too tired to try anything tonight. So we escape, and escape properly!"

Mellor smiled, "Good thinkin'."

Judos lowered his voice, "During dinner, I snuck a sling and two pouches of stones f'r me, and a short spear n' knife f'r you."

Mellor's smile grew wider. His spikes began to tingle with the excitement he felt at the prospect of escape.

Judos produced two haversacks, "I also got these. They're filled with vittles."

Mellor was astonished, "How in the seasons did you smuggle that up here?"

Judos shrugged, "They were in a pile. Skipper's preparing to leave, so Abbott Varrus wanted to provision them. I got these at breakfast, and replaced them so no one would see the difference."

Mellor shook his head in bewilderment at the quick mind his friend possessed.

Slowly, to make sure that no one woke, the two would-be escapees crept to the open window. Judos, taller and more lithe than his stockier friend, peered outside, and saw the ledges provided a chance for them to escape.

Taking their bed sheets, they twisted them into strong ropes. Mellor kept watch at the door, while Judos prepared the ropes.

Mellor gave a snoring sound, causing Judos to freeze. The sound of a habit shuffled along the corridors near the dormitories.

"It's Sister Val." Mellor muttered. Judos nodded slowly. Val was in charge of the infirmary. She was kind, but would not be pushed around.

Gradually, the noise receded. Mellor sighed, and crept towards where Judos had completed his work.

Judos smiled, and offered Mellor a mock bow to Mellor, "After you, matey."

Mellor climbed slowly, afraid of the height of the building. Judos bit his tongue to stop from screaming when Mellor nearly fell as Redwall's Methuselah and Matthias bells rang, as Judos had forgotten they did, at the start of evening.

Eventually, Mellor made it to the ground. He hugged the bushes, declaring he'd never dream of flying again.

Chuckling to get over his fear, Judos scaled down the wall. Slowly, they went towards the east wall. Once at the top, Judos reached for a big branch that hung over the wall.

This time, they did scream. A lean creature stared at the two of them in the half-light.

Judos didn't even think. A stone from his sling hit the creature's skull with a _clanggg_. The beast soundlessly fell to the ground.

Judos and Mellor bolted, for the bells rang again, though this time, in alarm. They did not run back to the dormitory, but in their panic, burst into Cavern Hole, screaming, "Attack! Attack!"

Skipper, Raga, and Mother Sara came running to them. Sara glared at them, "What is the meaning of this racket!"

Judos and Mellor were too scared to even speak. Gibbering, they pointed, with shaking paws, out towards the east wall.

Where there were now several torches being lit. A group of Brothers came, bearing a stretcher. Judos bit his lip in fear.

The stretcher came ever closer, yet the body was barely visible, hidden by the Abbey habits worn by the inhabitants of Redwall.

Mellor suddenly went pale. He could see something Judos did not. Behind him, Sara gasped in astonishment. Skipper shut his eyes at the prospect of something. Judos was utterly confused, for he could still not see the body.

Another few seconds, and he too went pale. He couldn't see who it was, but in the sudden light, it revealed a bushy tale.

If Judos had gone pale at the sight of the bush of hair that could only belong to a squirrel, he nearly fainted when he saw who it was.

It was Jander.

His face was horribly bruised, battered, and bleeding from his fall. A lump the size of a gull egg swelled beside his left ear from the sling. His tunic was feathered with twigs, leaves, and bark.

Judos dropped the sling that had started it all. It seemed not to clatter on the floor, but make a sound alike to shattering glass. He felt all eyes on him and Mellor, cold and accusing. He tried to shut them out by staring at his feet.

Varrus' grave voice broke through like a stone breaks through glass, "Judos. Mellor. Can you explain the meaning of all this?"

Sara stepped forward, taller than anyone there. Her face betrayed an anger Judos and Mellor were often a witness to.

"I think I can place it together. These two rogues were attempting to get out of here, when they thought they saw a monster in the shadows. Jander here took a slingstone to his head and fell over the wall. Am I correct?" Mellor and Judos merely nodded dumbly.

Sister Val, summoned, inspected the unconscious squirrel, "He's had quite a fall, and your Judos there can really whirl a sling,' the compliment was given grudgingly, 'but he's not taken any broken bones. He'll be fit again in a week or two."

Varrus shook his head with a rare anger, "You two should be ashamed of yourselves. First you take a sling, knife, spear, and provisions, and then you nearly kill a dear friend to us all. Frankly, I'm fearing what will happen next when you try to sneak out."

Judos and Mellor said nothing. Resent began building up in them. Another lecture, another week of hard punishment. All they wanted was to control their lives, see the world.

Judos wanted something Mellor didn't. Varrus knew what the young otter wanted as well. It was a secret that Judos revealed to no one.

Varrus went back to when Judos first came to Redwall.

It was on a blustery winter day. Icicles that would have gleamed like glass in the sun were murky grey in relevance to the sky. Snow blew in the wind, which howled and blew as though the gods were releasing a tempest.

Varrus, shivering with the cold, was wrapped in two thick blankets over his habit. Mother Sara stood with him, her ageing striped fur rustling in the wind.

Varrus shook his head, "Never in my life have I seen such weather."

Mother Sara smiled at her old friend, who was indeed ten seasons younger then her. Badgers lived for a very long life.

Jander, who was staying at the Abbey for the winter, came up, "Shouldn't you be at the Great Hall fireplace?"

Varrus smiled and ruffled the squirrel's ears, "Our Abbey stays open to any seeking shelter. I will wait."

Jander shrugged, and went back inside. Not even his loyalty to Varrus would keep him out in this icy hell.

Sara suddenly paused. Her eyes were glassy, her mouth slowly open. Varrus stared curiously at her. Her eyes were widening as though horrified by what she had seen.

As suddenly as it had begun, it stopped. Sara began running into the winter-encumbered forest of Mossflower. Looking over her shoulder, the old badger yelled at the Abbott, "Get stretchers! Hurry!"  
Varrus was mightily puzzled, but did not ask questions. He went into the Abbey as fast as old age allowed, bellowing with a surprising force, "Redwallers! To me!"

Raga came running up, the sword of Martin the Warrior in his hand, "Abbott, I've had a vision of trouble from Martin the Warrior himself!"

Relieved, Varrus indicated to the open door, "Sara had it too. She's heading out to find the trouble."

Raga shook his head, "She'll need help!" He plunged out after her.

Raga blundered through forest, guided by his instinct, and his knowledge of Mossflower. Sara's tracks were barely visible in the forest, and that was with reduced wind.

Instinct emerged triumphant, though. Through the noise of winter, he heard screams, and the clashes of battle. Battle-light shining in his eyes, Raga burst in the middle of a battle.

Vermin, two score of them, were terrorizing a small otter community. Sara was surrounded by a score of vermin. The older badger was holding them at bay with a long shovel taken from a dead otter, but the vermin outnumbered her.

Roaring his battle cry, Raga swung his sword at the nearest vermin.

It was a magnificent sword. The point was like an icicle, and the blade was of double-layered steel that shone brightly in the sunlight. The hilt was wrapped in black and was topped with a ruby red pommel. In short, it was the sword of a true warrior.

Vermin fell before the wrath of the warrior and the strength of the Badger Mother, leaving the sad remains of the community.

All the buildings were aflame, spewing black smoke into the white world of winter. Of the community, only two survived, one of which was mortally wounded. It was a mother otter that was weeping from the pain of a spear in her midriff. The other was her young son who had received only a bruise on his forehead. Wailing, it crept to his mother's side.

Sara picked it up, tears flowing down her cheeks, "How could they just do this to a peaceful group of honest beasts?"

Raga was angry, far too angry to answer. He merely took the babe as Sara looked after the mother. Then he saw the babe was staring at him.

The otter cub was no longer wailing. It was staring at the Warrior Mouse with a look that neither could place. His eyes blazed with fire, and his small teeth were clenched.

"Judos."

Raga and Sara looked at the otter mother. She had feebly called out as she watched the two of them. "It's his name. Just like his papa. When he's grown, he must find Coldbane. He did this all… " Her eyes misted over, and her head lolled to one side.

Raga turned the otter cub away, "Judos it is." He paused and stared bemusedly as Judos reached for his sword. "By the fur, this one's going to be a warrior."

Sara shook her head, "I hope to the seasons not. He's seen enough death as it is. He can become a creature of peace."

She went forward back to the abbey. Raga looked at the otter in his hands with a knowledge he would never understand afterwards, "Not as long as this cub's heard what his mother said. And I'd bet my life that nipper already knows what he's going to do with his life."

As the seasons passed on, Judos kept his past a secret from even Mellor, who he had befriended instantly, as they shared a longing for the outside world. Eventually he had half-forgotten it himself.

Now they were once again punished. Jander was now awake, but still in bed.

Varrus went to him and apologized to the squirrel, but Jander merely grinned and shrugged it off.

Judos and Mellor, subdued and defeated, were at the moment completely done with trying to escape. They now just took their punishment with submissive attitudes.

But very deep in Judos there still burned a name. A name of the vermin who had destroyed his village, murdered his family, and had filled him with a desire for revenge.

And though Judos did not know it, Coldbane, along with Blackback, was to play a large part in Ætharr's coup.


	5. Chapter 5

5

Ætharr was feeling good as Redjaw led them into the deep forests that hid much of the sunlight. This created a half-lit atmosphere, with rays of gold illuminating the blackness of the trees and bushes. Birdcalls and cricket chirps broke the silence of the darkness. In short, it was a mysteriously haunting place.

The company of Caladors and Vireos followed the Jeri farmer through the maze of forestry.

Eventually, a light appeared through the trees and shrubs.

A mighty fortress came into view in a clearing of trees. It was built of stones and lumber. Martens lined the wall tops, brandishing a bow that only the martens could wield among the vermin tribes.

Redjaw, however, must have been well known as a supporter of Blackaxe, so they let him go through, along with Ætharr, Ædall, Jinn, Horal, Ibos, and Ergot.

It spelled military. A large barracks dominated the fort, surrounded by little hovels where the soldiers could sleep. In the southern corner, there was a lavish house that was decorated with banners. Redjaw brought them through the door.

Blackaxe, Ætharr imagined, would be a big, awkward brute with much war prowess, but little intelligence. It seemed that such a description fitted him by sight. The leader was larger than the rest of the martens in the meeting area. A fireplace was in the centre of the room, which cast a look of pale gold over the room. A hole in the roof provided an escape for the smoke, while a circle of chairs was around the fireplace, in traditional marten meeting places.

Blackaxe had his back to the newcomers, though there were a few other martens in the room that noticed them. Blackaxe turned round.

Ætharr was surprised by what he saw in Blackaxe. It was not a look of a simple-minded savage, but one of pure intelligence. His eyes were a pale blue, so that they seemed to see right through them. However, intelligence could not hide the fact that he was a strong warrior. Ætharr was taken back at this discovery, yet pleased that this was better than his expectation.

Blackaxe looked now at these creatures in his hall. Especially did he look at Ætharr and Ibos, for they were better dressed than the rest of the creatures.

Finally he spoke, "What is it that you wish to speak to me of?"

Ætharr took authority of the group; "I have a proposition for you."

Blackaxe grinned, "I don't think I'm in a position to refuse, am I?"

So he was aware of the dangerous odds stacked against him, Ætharr thought. He looked directly into the blue eyes, "I will assist to free your people from slavery. In return I ask a worthy price."

Blackaxe looked shrewdly at the weasel, but did not seem to interpret his motives and thoughts. This was not surprising; assisting each other was a myth among the tribes.

He looked at Ætharr, "Who are you?"

Ibos stepped forward, "That is Ætharr, son of Ællear, Rightful Earl of Calador, and I am Ibos, son of Nero, heir to the Vireo territory."

Blackaxe smiled, and rose from his seat, giving an ironic bow, "Pardon my rude manners." He laughed. "You're in the same position as me, Ætharr of Calador. What proposition could you offer me?"

Ætharr smiled dangerously. He had smiled much as he had grown up filled with anger and a need for vengeance, but signs that vengeance was nearing made it easier for him to smile. Only his close friends had been able to be with him and see him laugh and smile genuinely.

Blackaxe waved his paw round the room, "I have two hundred creatures at my command, and they are outnumbered far. What could another hundred do?"

Ætharr unlimbered an axe from his back, "They will boost the morale of your tribe when they start to win you victories."

Blackaxe said nothing, which caused Ætharr to move on, "Let me go out into the countryside, and I will rally an army. When we start winning battles, more will come, until you will command a great army. We will strike into the Hunan heartland, and destroy their hell-cursed race forever."

Blackaxe smiled, "I have tried this already. The martens are far too subdued to…"

"…You have tried? I don't believe that!" Ætharr spoke up again, "I have spoken to some of your tribe. You have been in hiding for much time, doing nothing."

Blackaxe's face was bereft of mirth. He stared darkly at Ætharr, who knew he must plough on, "They say that you are gathering your strength. Admirable, of course, but even one hundred could win a battle, and then more will come!"

Blackaxe paused. He had thought of what Ætharr had said many, many times, but had seemed the odds too great against him.

Ætharr sensed this, and spoke again, "If you do not fight, your soldiers here will realise that you are not fit to lead them."

Blackaxe shook his head wearily and the truth crept out, "They are not soldiers. They have grown soft in exile. I have tried several times to bring them to battle, but they refuse outright."

Ætharr was astonished, but continued, "Are they all like this?"

"Oh no, not all. About seventy of them are patriots,' he said this with an attempted grin, 'but the rest don't want to invoke the Hunan's attention. Even I can't fight their wishes. In short, I am at war with my own side more than the other."

Ætharr's mind was racing as he listened. He was a very intelligent and quick-thinking leader as well as a tough warrior. "Who's in charge of this revolt?"

Blackaxe didn't hesitate, "It's one of my generals. Verrader. He's keeping them quiet, but that slime's got a crafty mind, and a greedy ambition."

Ætharr thought about it. Ideas of eliminating Verrader were analysed through his head. Ætharr finally thought of one that was simple, but if done properly, it would settle the mutinous garrison. "Does he really galvanize them into action?"

Blackaxe nodded, "He is without question their leader,' and realising what Ætharr was thinking, he smiled, 'and they would rise if their leader were executed. But if done properly, as you plan, weasel, we could completely wipe out their morale and put them into order."

He turned to Blackaxe and his war chiefs, "Where does Verrader stay in the fort?"

For an answer, a weedy looking marten pointed at the large barracks in the centre of the fort.

Ætharr looked at his cousin. Ædall shrugged, "It's big enough. And 'is cronies are always around."

Jinn smiled dangerously, and began testing his long knife.

Ætharr shook his head, "No, not that, Jinn. It's too easy, and the troops wouldn't be brought to order."

Ætharr explained his idea to everyone present, and they approved.

Blackaxe grinned, "May I have the honours?"

Ætharr gave one of his rare smiles and bowed mockingly.

The next day, Ætharr, Ibos and Blackaxe went to the barracks to find a mess. Weapons were being casually tossed on the floor; ale was trickling out of upturned cups. Raucous cheers and roars sounded. There were soldiers swigging ale and wine, soldiers being slapped by wives and lovers. It was chaos.

Ætharr did not look at this, but at Verrader. He was in the centre of it all, waving a spear. He was tall and generously proportioned with a scruffy black beard spilling down his chest combed perfectly as one hair.

Blackaxe held his axe. It dwarfed Ætharr's axes, just as the marten dwarfed the weasel. Martens were one of the biggest of the vermin tribes, and they were certainly strong.

Verrader noticed Blackaxe instantly. At first he became wary, wondering what Blackaxe was here for. Then he saw Ætharr, and became confused. Slowly, as he thought about it, he relaxed. He had all his supporters in here in case these two tried to start anything.

He laughed in greeting, "Well, hello there, yer lordshipness!" the martens within earshot laughed, recognising the enmity between Verrader and Blackaxe. The rest of Verrader's cronies came up to see what the fuss was.

Blackaxe wrinkled his nose at the strong scent of ale coming from the creatures facing him. "Verrader, I want you to meet Ætharr of Calador, Ealdor in exile."

A female marten from the back screeched something, and the rest of the martens roared with laughter and began jeering.

Verrader had merely smiled, "Is there a point to this?" He had barely noticed the weasel.

Blackaxe nodded, "He has arrived with over a hundred soldiers to assist us in destroying the rule of the Hunan tribe."

Murmurs of opposition slithered into the air. Verrader continued to smile, "Now, Lord, we've discussed this many times before and…"

"…No more excuses! I will march tomorrow, and I expect my soldiers to come, and I also expect all my generals in behind me."

A silence had enveloped the crowd. They were fingering with their weapons and looking to their leader. Verrader looked as though he had been struck several times. Slowly, he flushed with anger.

"Now that's enough out o' you!' he bellowed, invoking a chorus of yells, 'I ain't goin' nowhere an' neither are they!"

It happened so fast that no one saw it coming.

Blackaxe swung his axe at his rival. It was a mighty swing, one that was filled with anger and revenge.

One moment Verrader was yelling in fury, the next he fell backwards, a gaping wound in his chest. A howl of shock and fury erupted from the crowd of the former traitor's supporters.

Swiftly, Ætharr drew his two axes, ducked the fountain of blood still coming from Verrader, and plunged forward at the martens. They fell before his whirl of blows at first, but then sprang to defeat him. However the large weasel was now accompanied by Blackaxe and between the two of them, they managed to stay up in the midst of combat.

The soldiers howled as they struggled to take these two down, but a roar suddenly erupted from around them.

Ædall, Ferric, and Ibos sprang forward, cutting down martens farthest away from Blackaxe and Ætharr. Behind them came the allied forces of Blackaxe's patriots, Ibos' High Guard, and Ætharr's Calador warriors.

The fight went right out of the mutineers. Rapidly, they dropped to the ground in surrender. Their women shrieked to them not to be cowards and to fight. Fired up by their victory, Blackaxe's martens grabbed them, threw them bodily to the floor, and gave them the brutal price of mutiny.

From the others, a cheer came up as two heroes of the hour mounted a table. Blackaxe raised a hand to halt the cheering, "Tomorrow, we march against the Hunan warlords, and bring freedom to the Jeri people!"

That was greeted with even more cheers at the prospect of marching out to regain the rightful territories of the Jeri clan.

The next day, the three clan leaders stood at the head of the allied soldiers. It was a marvellous sight for anyone present. Close to two hundred creatures dressed in armour from chain mail to simple leather. And the noise! The army sang as though in a competition, from the deep throaty cheers of the martens, to the slightly more baritone Vireo clan beasts.

Ætharr watched it all, and was so moved by it, he felt a tear in his eye. Calling out with the rest, he tossed a battleaxe in the air and caught it.

Ibos was carrying his banner in one paw, a sword in the other.

Blackaxe was roaring a challenge to the distant Hunan clan, whom, if they heard him, would have been shivering with fear.

The generals and minor command behind were rapping out orders in between song. Ædall and Horal were fast proving to become excellent choices for generals in his armies, and also as leaders in Calador.

Ætharr glanced at Blackaxe, "What do you have in mind?"

The marten smiled, "If I can trust Redjaw, then the warlord that must be defeated is Oorlog. He was the leader of nine hundred vermin, and he dominates the entire countryside. The martens fear him as much as they hate him."

Ætharr gave a wolfish smile at the thought of destroying this new opponent.

Jinn went far ahead of the army with two others, calling out to the resistance fighters, and would-be rebels that Blackaxe was marching to face Oorlog and send him reeling out of the land.

As a result, martens flocked to his banner. The population had been decimated through the long domination, but there were still many hot-blooded patriots wanting revenge and war.

Jinn also took the opportunity to speak of how Ætharr and Ibos had contributed to the effort, and as a result, sympathy for Ætharr's cause grew, as they knew what it was like to be held under another clan's sway.

The number of volunteers exceeded Blackaxe's expectations. After five days of rallying his countrymen, the leader commanded nearly four hundred martens. Most were armed with only a lump of rock and a fishing spear, but they were enthusiastic enough.

Ætharr and Ædall were sitting on a grassy hill overlooking the camp. Martens now outnumbered Caladors seven to one, which gave them time to practice for war.

Calador armies had dominated the battlefield for a long time, and their battle tactics as a result were long desired for by the ambitious. The fyrd fought in a shield wall, which was a line of soldiers who overlapped shields to create a linked barricade that, if it contained good soldiers, was very difficult to break. The top priority for the ones in the front rank was to keep the shield wall linked. During such close quarters, long swords were difficult to use, so the front rank usually used short swords, hatchets, and weapons that did not need a lot of space to wield. The ranks behind were to provide replacements if a beast in front died, or they would use long-handled weapons swung over the heads of the beasts in front. In short, it was a very effective way of fighting, and it would now be taught to the Jeri martens by the clan that had used it to gain eternal glory on the vermin battlefields.

Ætharr smiled at his cousin, "I never did like the idea of fighting in the shield wall. I always preferred to just lead a roaring mass of vermin."

Ædall clicked his teeth as a fly buzzed his way, "Aye, we'd all like to lead that wouldn't we?"

Ætharr shrugged, "I know that the shield wall is the way to win this war."

Ædall paused, "What about Sally-whatsits?"

Ætharr took a throwing hatchet from his belt, "They know how to fight.' That was putting it in lowest terms, 'and they'll have a Badger Lord as their leader. But the days of Calador versus Salamandastron are ancient history. I have a feeling we shall take them by surprise with our shield wall."

Ædall nodded, and looked down where Horal, Ferric, and the four original survivors of Ællear's death were training the martens the proper way to fight in the shield wall. It wasn't going very well, for the martens had always preferred the howling mass of soldiers clashing against their enemies.

Ætharr followed his cousin's gaze, and he too began to watch the martens clumsily lining their shields up. They were very good to have in a conqueror's army, for they were large, strong, and filled with a desire for a fight.

Suddenly, slowly, an idea started to form in his head. Would it not be easier to use the best of both tactics?

Suddenly Jinn came running up, followed closely by his two helpers, "Ætharr! Ætharr!"

The two weasels came to him, "What is it?"

Jinn gasped for breath, "Oorlog is coming to crush this revolution before it starts to cause trouble." Despite being out of breath, he managed a leer, explaining what he thought of it.

Later, Jinn was reciting his information in front of the allied leaders. Only the previous day, Blackaxe had taken the oath Nero had taken before.

Ibos relished the thought of battle. Blackaxe and Ætharr were like of mind, but they were more practical thinkers than the inexperienced Ibos.

Blackback, Ferric, a marten general named Ervaring, and Coldbane were also at the council, for their experiences in war.

Ætharr stood up and faced the Blackaxe and Ibos, "What Jinn has told us now provides us with the advantage. Oorlog is headed here at the head of half his army. I think that's smart of him, but it's not good for us. For this prepares him for a defeat, should it happen. We have none to spare, so we must go in with our total force. We have no choice but to gamble everything on one victory."

Ervaring thumped his foot down in his support Ætharr's opinion.

Ibos stood up, "Fight with the shield wall! That's what I say!"

He turned to look around at everyone's opinion, as if hoping for someone to agree with him. Coldbane and Ervaring had thoughtful faces, thinking about it. Blackaxe was expressionless, as he always looked when deep in thought. Ferric glanced at Ætharr, inviting him to talk. Ibos, too, looked to the Ealdor in exile.

Ætharr thought of his response. But then the idea he had earlier thought up resurfaced from the back of his mind.

Ibos spoke again, "The shield wall has been the dominator of the clan battlefields. If we use this tactic, we have the advantage."

The rest of the councilors looked at the Calador Ealdor in Exile, who was thinking of his idea. Should he try to propose it?  
Blackaxe looked bemused at the weasel, "Lord Ætharr?"

Ætharr snapped back to attention, "Well, it's true that the shield wall is a good strategy,' the others in the room nodded, 'and it can be improved with archers on the flanks as an example, but I really think there is an advantage in not using the shield wall."

Now he had gained everyone's attention. They looked at him curiously, wondering what would come out of this weasel's head.

He paced the room, "The martens are in no hurry to learn how to fight in the shield wall. Maybe the martens should just be allowed to fight in their own way, and likewise for the Vireo warriors."

All saw the wisdom in these words. Coldbane raised a question, "O' course ye'll be allowing any shield wall volunteers to join up wid yer lot?"

Ætharr nodded, "By all means, if they want to fight like that, then let them. But the point I'm meaning to show is that instead of forcing the a soldier to fight in a way he's never fought before, it'd just be a waste."

All approved of this idea. Blackaxe called for the room's attention, "Lord Ætharr has made valid points, and they truly have helped me on this evening with the formation of our battle plans."


	6. Chapter 6

6

Jander's recovery surprised even the most hopeful of the Abbey dwellers. After four days he was walking round with the slightest limp. And though he still looked like a wolf had mauled him, he was as alert as ever.

Skipper and Raga visited him frequently, where the squirrel would frequently ask for the story of how frightened Judos and Mellor had looked after knocking him out. And when Abbott Varrus had apologized for their misbehavior, he had remarked, "Well it was worth scaring them outta their fur, so it was."

Judos and Mellor were still surprised and subdued from their latest failure. Even after their punishment was over, they were silent, barely speaking even to each other. Varrus and Sara were starting to get concerned.

Then one day, Judos and Mellor were with the other Dibbuns when Brother Gores was teaching them the history of Redwall's founding.

Mellor was casually reading his book, but Judos was surprisingly very attentive this lesson.

Brother Gores did not notice, but continued on, "So Martin the Warrior went against Tsarmina the wildcat Queen and a vicious fight ensued. Martin suffered terrible wounds, but his defiance and courage finally gave the victory to him."

Half the Dibbuns raised a small cheer. Judos stayed silent, a wave of some feeling unknown to him swept him over.

At that moment Brother Gores was speaking of how Bella of Brockhall had spared the lives of scores of vermin, when a call of astonishment got everyone's attention.

Mellor was staring to the left of him, where Judos was staring in front of him, his eyes widening in what seemed to be horror.

Brother Gores felt that something was out of order, "Judos?"

The young otter made no response. His mouth began to open, and mouth uncomprehending words.

Mellor reached his paw out to shake his friend. Judos made no response.

Brother Gores started to move towards him, when the otter let out a call of pain, and fright,

"Father!"

All were stunned. Judos jumped up, and hurtled upstairs, towards the Main Gate.

Old Monnik, an elderly bank vole, was at the gate when he saw Judos charging towards the gate. He started to get in between them, saw the blank look in Judos' eyes and hurried out of the way.

Judos, chased by Mellor, Brother Gores, Raga, and Skipper, crashed through the trees and bushes. It was a beautiful afternoon; the sun seemed to break through the leaves and thick growth of Mossflower to brighten the ground. Insects were out to take the best of the light and the air was full of flies, butterflies, and bees.

Judos was oblivious of it all. He barreled through it all towards, though he did not know it, the sight of his old village.

It had lain abandoned since Mother Sara and Raga had left it. The ruin and the bodies were long gone, and it was a place of peace and quiet. Still, a haunting air hung over the remaining mounds that had been houses, and the skeletons that remained somewhere among the ferns.

Judos, slowly coming back to normal, gazed at the place with the knowledge that he had been here before. A movement caught his eye, and he whipped round to stare at the sight that awaited him.

It was an otter like himself. He looked haggard and old, though he was not an old creature. Scars were visible in between the ragged streaks of fur. The left eye was bloodshot and out of focus, while the right was milky white.

Judos was in tears. Running to him, he started to drag the otter by the shoulder.

Skipper and Sara came bursting into the clearing, with Brother Gores and Mellor behind them. Seeing the two otters, Sara picked up the elder, and Skipper took the younger by the hand and the party turned back to Redwall.

Mellor was still surprised, and he walked alongside Judos in silence. Then the young hedgehog looked sideways at his friend, "You know, 'e looks a lot like you." Judos said nothing, but looked at the unconscious otter.

Was this ragged, miserable creature related to him? Could this frail wretched otter be his father?

The longer he looked at the otter, the more he started to believe it. And he had seen Martin the Warrior.

He remembered it like a very old man recalls a special childhood memory. He had been trying to hack through a field of thorns with a shining blade, but every time he hacked, they always grew back, even sharper, and even closer to him than before. Then a hole had come under Judos' paws and he was falling into darkness. There were dozens of figures in the dark, some shining, others hiding in the shadow. Some he had known, others were a mystery. Like the young weasel wielding two large single-bladed axes. There were three badgers, each one eyeing the others. The worst had been a gray-furred fox, standing over at least five otters with a score of ferrets and rats behind him. He stuck his sword in four of them, but the fifth crawled away. The fox's laughter had sent shivers up his spine. Then he heard a strangely familiar voice call out:

"_Judos."_

"It's his name. Just like his papa. When he's grown, he must find Coldbane. He did this all… "

It had been his mother's voice, and as it had spoken, the fifth otter had appeared, this time old and scarred, just like the otter he had just seen. Beside him, there was a mouse in full armor, and wielding the sword Judos had used, "Go to your father, Judos! He is here to find you!"

This otter was then Judos the Elder, and that meant Judos' proper name was Judos the Younger. His father was right here.

Mellor looked at the tears in his friend's eyes, and looked away for his friend.

It seemed all Redwall was staring at the procession re entering the abbey. Judos tried to block out the eyes, but found he couldn't.

In the infirmary, Jander and Sister Val had laid out a bed for the new patient. There was a lot to work on here. He seemed to be dying, for his breathing was light and slow. Judos and Mellor were ushered out of the room, and they waited.

Mellor looked at Judos, "How did you know that was your father?"

Judos returned his friend's gaze, "It was in something I saw all of a sudden."

Mellor went quiet, thinking.

Then the door opened, Sara looked down at Judos, her striped face full of concern, "Judos, I need you to come with me."

Judos was oblivious of the walk towards the Abbott's room. He was lost in his thoughts.

Eventually, they reached their destination, and Mother Sara opened the door for Judos. The old badger followed him inside.

Dreamlike was the word Judos would have used to describe his first look at it. There was a small fire in a hearth, the embers glowing bright red, with orange flames licking tenderly upwards. Abbott Varrus was seated in a chair which was faced parallel to the flames. There was another chair facing the old otter Abbott. Raga, the Warrior of Redwall was standing behind the Abbott's chair. Both looked solemn and bleak.

Varrus wordlessly gestured to Judos and he sat down in the chair opposite Varrus. Sara put her paw on the desk Varrus would usually sit behind when writing.

Varrus peered intently at Judos, "There is something I must tell you now to set straight what has occurred this day."

Judos sat in silence as the truth came from the three beasts in front of him. He was astounded, outraged, tearful, and bemused at once. He had a family now. His mother had been murdered cruelly. Why had they not told him?

Coldbane.

A good name for one such as him. The fox's face leered at him still.

Varrus continued, "We never knew your father was still alive. We thought you were an orphan, and we raised you. And we never told you the truth about your existence because we feared you would want revenge. Indeed, I had always thought that was your reason for wanting to leave Redwall. I have held you back every time, knowing that revenge would take you down a very dark path. Do you understand now? We have been protecting you all this time."

Judos understood.

A timid knock sounded at the door.

It was Sister Val with grave news. Judos' father was dead.

A pain hit Judos in his stomach as though a knife had been plunged into it.

Raga looked from Judos to Sister Val, "Did he say anything?"

Sister Val shook her head, "He never woke. He was already nearly dead when you brought him here."

Judos stood up, "May I go and rest?"

Varrus gazed at him for a long time, almost sadly, "You may."

Judos left the room silently, leaving behind a sadness and sympathy for the young otter.

So cruel is life to take away a young creature's parents, Varrus thought, but the past is unchangeable, so either run or learn from it.

They set out to bury Judos the Elder outside of the Abbey in a clearing. Sara sent Skipper to ask Judos if he wanted to attend it, though Varrus shook his head to himself after Skipper went back to the Abbey.

After the body was buried, and the funeral completed, Skipper sidled up, "I hate to disrupt a funeral, but Judos ain't in his room. I checked everywhere else, and no luck. He's finally escaped for good."

Surprise and astonishment showed on most of the Abbey dwellers, and they hurried back to the Abbey after the tombstone was erected.

Varrus, Sara, Skipper, Mellor, Raga and a few others did not rush back.

Mellor was overwhelmed that his friend had left without him. Sara and Raga were sighing, realizing some things didn't change but Varrus merely looked sad. Skipper alone noticed it, "Shall I organize a party to bring him back?"

Varrus shook his head, "No."

All stared at him in shock. Jander spoke for all of them, "But he's just tried to escape!' He shook his head in ruefulness of the young otter's cunning, 'On 'is papa's funeral too. I'd ne'er a thought."

Varrus bowed his head, "I did. I knew the moment he asked for rest. And this time I will not stop him. He is old enough to choose his life."

Sara hesitated, "I don't think that is the smartest idea. Revenge is a twisted path."

Varrus looked at his old friend, "If you think that he should be brought back here, then by all means send a party out. I will not interfere with Martin the Warrior, and a mother's call to her son."

Skipper looked at Jander. The squirrel shrugged, "Well, I suppose I'll do it. Just t' keep an eye out for him."

Mellor spoke up, "I'm going after him too!"

Raga fixed him with a stern look, "No! It's dangerous enough with Judos gone. You are not to come."

Mellor pouted, spikes bristling, "He's my friend, and I go where he does, no matter what!"  
Raga shook his head, "I understand how you feel, but you can't throw yourself into something just to follow your friends."

Everyone but Varrus started to go back to the Abbey. He glanced at the young hedgehog and called him back.

"" "" "" "" "" "" ""

Salamandastron was unchanged after Roaveen's prophecy. Roaveen most of all had forgotten it, and had quickly resumed his title of the bully of his family. Korari and Thornback had grown more resentful than ever.

Roaveen though was also becoming a leader in the Long Patrol. Several patrols were sent out on his orders, and a minor skirmish with some toads resulted in the large and warty amphibians scuttling away from the wrath of the rising star.

Since then, he had become popular among the young hares of Salamandastron. Even the hares under his command claimed he had a strong potential.

This affected Korari and Thornback each differently. Thornback had merely smiled, knowing privately that he was smarter, but Korari had developed resentfulness for this.

Captain Jackers and Colonel Seahawk, old campaigners and friends, were sitting at the foot of the mountain, watching Roaveen struggle to teach eighty-five leverets to become soldiers.

Jackers tut-tutted, "Too young, all of em'. I'd give it another three or four seasons, wot. O' course, Lord Roaveen will deny it."

Seahawk peered through his monocle, "Aye, you're right, old lad. Come to think of it, Roaveen and them youngsters are a lot alike. They're young, proud and they love the eldest son of Oakfur."

Jackers smiled. Roaveen had enough vanity for both his brothers.

Oakfur came up, staring at the new battalion of youngsters. Seahawk and Jackers formally got up and saluted.

Oakfur waved it aside, "What is my son doing?"

Seahawk spoke up, "Training what he deems to be new recruits sah. Personally disagree with him sah."

Oakfur raised an eyebrow, "Disagree?"

The old Colonel had served Oakfur for many a long season, and knew how to talk to him, "My opinion says they're too young. Not fit enough, sah!"

Oakfur gazed at the battalion again. Secretly, he thought likewise, but he knew that Roaveen needed this training if he were to become Badger Lord. Besides, the thought of recruiting at that age was not out of the ordinary. Lady Cregga Rose Eyes, so many generations before, had led over a hundred such leverets as new recruits from the mountain in assistance to Redwall.

Oakfur did not say as much to the two veteran officers, "If Roaveen can lead them to battle, I do not care."

Jackers started to voice an opinion, thought better of it, and kept quiet.

Roaveen marched up, "There's promise in this new unit, father. I've even thought up a new name for this little battalion."

Oakfur raised an eyebrow, "Very well."

Roaveen smiled, but Seahawk and Jackers found it ridiculous. To give them a name was to separate them from the rest of the Long Patrol. It would give them a confidence that would break in the line of battle.

Roaveen was oblivious about it. He saw greatness in that unit. So what to call it? Something that meant prowess, or a name to strike fear in the heart of any scum that dare try to harm innocent creatures. The near-grown badger's mind was swimming with names that proclaimed brilliance in war. The Mountain Regiment was one, or maybe the Fire Dragons. No, the Mountain Regiment sounded great: allegiance to the Mountain, an organized unit. It would definitely work. He marched back to the new Regiment to tell them the good news.

The leverets were overjoyed. One called Leaflock spoke up, "Are we going to learn how to be warriors, sire?"

Roaveen grinned, and said, "Only if you want to."

Jackers shook his head, "I say, them leverets will be in for a thrashin' if they don't learn fast."

Seahawk watched silently as the new Mountain Regiment put new vigor in their drills, "Who knows, old lad? Who knows?"


	7. Chapter 7

7

Ætharr strode in front of his forces. He had departed to confront Oorlog, taking with him all the Calador fighters, his friends and officers, and roughly four score martens to add their powerful strength to his army. Coldbane, Blackback and twenty of the High Guard were there also. Ætharr had grown to value Blackback; the black ferret possessed a cold calmness in war, and a veteran leadership.

Leaving most of the war band behind, Ætharr, Blackback, Ædall, and Horal went to scout ahead, and see for any signs of Oorlog.

He was staring at the countryside around him. The forests were relinquishing their hold to the plains. Long, green grass swished in time with the wind's gentle breaths. A few birds soared over the air, calling to each other.

Ædall made a half-hearted attempt at a birdcall. He broke off suddenly and hissed, "Down!"

Slowly peering over the grass, the four of them could see a group of ten or so vermin lounging beneath the shelter of an isolated tree.

Horal cursed quietly, "Should a' brought Jinn along instead o' leaving him with the rest."

Blackback agreed, "Range would have been perfect to take them down."

Ætharr said nothing. He was thinking of a plan to surprise them, defeat them, and yet take some prisoners alive.

He looked at the scouts. They were not taking special care to hide themselves.

He looked at the grass. He and the rest could creep through it unseen.

The plan formed swiftly in his mind. He explained it to the others, and they went along with it.

Blackback ducked behind an old oak stump, darkened with age, and a streak of lightening, judging by the streak of jet black on the side. His sable fur blended perfectly with the trunk. He took off his belt, fashioned it into a sling, and gripped a cluster of hard stones.

Meanwhile, Ætharr, Ædall and Horal snuck through the high grass as lightly as possible so none would notice. Each went in different directions towards the tree.

Horal was barely breathing as he crept through the undergrowth. His long saber snaked ahead in his hand as a guide.

Ædall had left his large battleaxe behind, and was now gripping Blackback's long knife. His heart seemed to pound like a huge drum in his ears.

Ætharr reached his spot first. He smiled as he crept towards the ten creatures suspecting nothing. He gripped a hatchet in each paw, waiting for the other two to form their positions. He hoped Blackback would wait for the ripe moment.

And there it went. A stone whizzed out of seemingly nowhere and hit a lounging weasel clear in the eye.

Ignoring the scream of pain, Ætharr leaped to his feet, yelled a battle cry, and hurled his throwing hatchets one after the other. The weasel that had taken a stone in his eye fell with one of the hatchets in his chest. The other hatchet sunk into the neck of a tall stoat.

Swiftly, Ætharr snatched two more hatchets from his belt. At that instant, Ædall and Horal jumped up to take down two rats. A fox, evidently the leader, lifted his halberd and sent it crashing down towards Ædall's head, but a hatchet from Ætharr nearly severed his right paw.

Blackback ran across the field towards the tree, hurling rocks with his other at anyone trying to make resistance, while he himself drew his viciously sharp scimitar.

By the time the black ferret had hacked down the last resistant beast, there was only the fox; his right paw now completely hacked off thanks to one of Ætharr's axe. He was trying to show defiance, though they all saw the fear in his eyes.

Ætharr stared balefully at him, "Bandage that limb of his. We don't want him to die just yet."

After treating the limb, they marched their prisoner back to camp. Jinn and Ferric looked bemused, but said nothing.

The fox had regained some of his attitude and he snarled and spat at his captors. However, he quailed when he saw Blackback. Ætharr understand that feeling. Blackback was entirely sable, something very rare for any vermin. He radiated a coldness and ferocity, which is what made Blackback a good leader.

Coldbane was nearly the same. Ætharr had really begun to appreciate how smart Nero had been to send them along.

At present, he stood in front of the fox, "Where is Oorlog?"

The fox merely swore.

Ætharr smiled unpleasantly, and faster than anyone could have foreseen, he belted the fox across his jaw.

The fox swore louder this time, massaging his bruised jaw.

Ætharr's eyes were as hard as flint, "Let's try this off with a minor question. Who are you?"

The fox was more wary this time, but still did not say anything.

Ætharr slapped his face, and took a fighting stance, "If you don't want to talk, then fight me. No one will try to defend me."

The fox was completely lost now, and did not know what to do.

The Ealdor in Exile indicated a spear held by Coldbane. The gray-furred fox tossed the spear to the captive.

It fell at his feet, yet he did not pick it up. Ætharr stood up straight, "Should I slay you where you stand instead of giving you a chance?"

The fox made no move. Ætharr contemptuously turned his back.

The fox moved. Picking up the spear, he lunged at the big weasel.

It didn't land. Ætharr had ducked, rolled away in acrobat-like style, and sent a hefty kick into the fox's ribs.

The fox slumped down on his knees, rubbing his chest.

At a nod from Ætharr, Blackback bent down and picked up the fox by the fur by his collarbone, pulling his face up to his. The fox squirmed as he was forced to look into the black face, and deathly eyes of the ferret.

"Who are you, and are you with Oorlog? Think carefully before you lie to my face." Blackback's snarl chilled the room.

The fox struggled to break the gaze, but it was no use. Finally, he collapsed, sobbing out, "Bluegut! My name is Bluegut! I'm a scout in Oorlog's army!"

"Where is he? How many does he have? Speak!" Blackback did not even loosen his grip.

"He's two days from here! Two days west! He's just sent for the rest of his army, so he'll outnumber anyone going against him!" Bluegut's voice was shrill. Blackback shook him, "How many does he have now?"

"Three hundred! That's it for now, but he'll have fifteen hundred soon!"

Ætharr and the rest were checked by this news. They had not expected over a thousand against them. Bluegut mewed pleadingly for his life in the silence.

Blackback started stepping forward, his face a mask of bestial hate. Bluegut squirmed, screaming, but Blackback had no mercy for those who didn't deserve it. The fox was driven onto a pike held by Coldbane.

Ætharr shuddered. He trusted those two, but sometimes they just killed if they could, not really considering the value of keeping creatures alive.

As a golden sun rose, the long column of Ætharr's forces marched forward to battle. Oorlog knew where they were, and now it was a race to the field of battle.

By the end of the day, they had reached a mountainous area. There was little or no vegetation, just the bare rock. With the sun setting, a red ball of smoldering flame, it was turning it into a very grim place.

Ætharr, already concerned with the red sun, was feeling cold in this deserted land.

Redjaw, who was with Ætharr, was even more panicked, "The Ridge of the Dead!" he gasped.

Ætharr shivered, and demanded an explanation.

"The Ridge has been a battlefield for ages and ages. Now it's more a tomb than a battlefield. Some consider it a cursed place, so they call it Verfluchtes Land."

Verfluchtes Land. So this was where they were supposed to be. But Ætharr suddenly remembered the shudder from Blackaxe and the others at the council.

Ætharr made a decision that he wished wasn't necessary, "I'm going to scout out the terrain. Organize the army into a shield wall in case anything comes up."

Leaving Blackback and Horal to organize the army, Ætharr, Ædall, Ferric, Jinn, Coldbane, and Rojo, one of Blackaxe's lieutenants went into the battlefield of all battlefields.

Rojo had a lot to say about this land. As well as being an ancient site of many battlefields, it was also a curse to those who tried to settle it. In short, it was a tomb, and Ætharr was feeling ever more apprehensive.

They had now realized how littered the place was with skeletons. Bones from mice, all types of vermin, even badgers and hares.

Jinn and Ferric had long arrows ready on their bows. Ætharr held one of his axes, and his other paw was poised on drawing a hatchet, while his cousin gripped his large double-headed axe in both paws. Coldbane clutched a broadsword, while Rojo was armed with a mace and chain.

The night had begun by now, and stars were visible. Shadows leered out of the crevices. Every sound made them all the more apprehensive.

All of a sudden, a blood-curdling scream sounded, and the world became day as scores of torches came from behind the rocks, carried by vermin of all kinds.

Ætharr and his group fired and threw missiles into the mobs, and prepared for hand-to-hand combat.

Yelling creatures threw themselves on the small group. Ætharr yelled a Calador battle cry as he drew his other axe. Wielding them both, he cut a bloody path. Beside him, Ædall swung his axe with brute force, cleaving through foes.

Coldbane and Rojo were shoulder to shoulder, fighting fearsomely.

The forces drew off, gibbering with hate and fear, never having experienced such fighters as they. Ætharr took the opportunity quickly, "Draw back!"

Equally quickly, they bolted back through the hideous skeletons and bare stone of the area, a howling mob behind them.

Reaching their forces, they skidded to a halt and turned to lead from the front.

Oorlog's soldiers were hesitant at first, but they soon snapped out of it. Forming a surprisingly straight line, they made way in the ranks for a large vermin like no other Ætharr had seen.

"He's a polecat." Rojo spoke from beside Ætharr. And a fearsome polecat at that, Ætharr thought. His armor was polished bronze, his two machetes were gleaming, and his presence inspired them all to advance.

The allies were mingled together so that they relied on each other regardless of tribe. Ætharr and Ædall lined themselves together, with a marten and two High Guards behind them.

The lines clashed. The shield wall was shaken by the effort to hold Oorlog's outnumbering forces. Their line was also shaken; such was the danger of the shield wall.

Ætharr and Ædall had no shields, but they fought better that way. Shields provided much protection, true, but the two cousins were good fighters, and were not facing a proper shield wall like theirs.

A weasel rammed his long sword at the Ealdor in Exile, but Ætharr parried the blow with one axe, and another cut him down. Ædall was keening his curse on the vermin in front of him. All the way down the line, the allies were pushing as hard as they could to keep this tide in check.

A fox had stepped over the fallen weasel and thrust his shield at Ætharr, who swung an axe as hard as he could into the shield to break it. A long crack appeared, but the axe blade was also stuck. The fox yelled in triumph, as the big axe in Ætharr's other hand was helpless. Lunging his spear at the weasel, he screamed when a hatchet buried itself in his chest.

Ætharr had let go of the axe in the fox's shield, drew a hatchet, and had swung. Withdrawing both axe and hatchet, he roared for more victims.

The vermin backed away from the shield wall. It was a very dangerous place to be, and only the drunk and the most brave and the most suicidal went willingly into the place of tightness and death.

Oorlog yelled at his troops, and they swiftly tried to copy the shield wall as their opponents. The two cousins turned and called for shields. There was an ample supply. A score of allies were dead or wounded, and their shields were used as replacements. Around forty-five of Oorlog's troops were dead.

Ætharr and Ædall had picked up shields, and overlapped the tips with those beside them as Oorlog and his forces advanced.

A spear was held to rest on the overlapped tips of Ætharr and Ædall's shields. Similar pikes were being stuck out all across the line.

Close to three hundred vermin marched forward, noting the pikes and discipline. The madness that they had used to hurl themselves onto their enemies was fading, to be replaced with some caution, but they were not going to just leave a fight not fought.

Oorlog called out in a loud, deep voice not unlike that of Blackaxe, "Who are you to so foolishly challenge me?"

Ætharr bellowed a reply, "I am Ætharr, Rightful Ealdor of the Calador tribe. I have come to assist my new ally, Lord Blackaxe. Ibos of Vireo has also come, so you are facing three tribes!" it was truth enough, but Ætharr knew that the support from Vireo and Calador was only around one hundred in total for now.

Oorlog laughed, and urged his troops onwards.

The line clashed once more. A snarling rat came forward at Ætharr. Shields thrust at each other; weasel and rat swung their weapons awkwardly at each other. The rat swung what appeared to be an oversized hatchet. The blade was long, but slimmer like that of a hatchet, but the edge of the blade was the length of the blade, with a slight arc. It was a good weapon, and it had the advantage to Ætharr's longer axe.

Ducking a sweeping cut, Ætharr dropped his axe, and whipped out a hatchet. Burying the blade in the rat's throat, Ætharr slung his axe on his back with the other axe so that they hung in a crisscross on his back, as he usually wore them. Leaving the hatchet in the rat's body, Ætharr took instead the curious axe, hefting it in his hands. It felt good for a shield wall, and the big weasel decided he would keep it.

The battle raged along the two shield walls. Vermin from Oorlog matched their ferocity alongside the allies' discipline.

Both Ætharr and Ædall were weary. They had hewn and hewn at vermin for well over an hour, and they still came. Ætharr still had his new axe, but his shield was dented and cracked. Ædall had slung his double-sided battleaxe, and was wielding a short sword. Both of them had received a few cuts, and compared to about ten allies, they were lucky that their wounds were not serious.

Just then, Horal came through the ranks, his arm in a sling, but with his sword in his paw. His eyes were wild, and there was a spring in his step.

Ætharr was about to ask what in the name of Hell's Gates was there to smile about, when he heard a loud cheer at the right end of the shield wall.

It was outflanking the enemy.

The right flank of the allied shield wall had pressed the vermin against a ledge sticking out of the mountain slope, and a massacre had ensued. Those that were not killed fled, and the thin shield wall grew thinner as it outflanked the attackers.

Ætharr fought on, praying that Oorlog did not direct their full attack on the Achilles heel of their shield wall.

Yet as he swung his hand-axe, he saw the panic enveloping these creatures. They faced discipline like they had never faced before. Eventually, the panic grew so that the rearmost ranks began edging backwards.

Ætharr roared at this sign of victory, and urged his soldiers onwards. Soon, the army was fleeing the allies.

All that was left was Oorlog and his bodyguard. Oorlog was shaking with fury, his machetes were reddened, and his armor dented.

The allies stepped back, indicating they were letting him go. Oorlog bowed his head, for to him, the pity of his enemies was the worst possible insult.

He turned to go, but suddenly turned to stare straight at Ætharr, "You're a dead beast, weasel. And Blackaxe is next!"

Ætharr tossed his new hand-axe in the air and caught it, "I must thank you for the new weapon. It will serve well in shield walls to come."

Oorlog smiled grimly to hide his fury, and left.

The allies cheered themselves hoarse, but there were still casualties. Thirty dead and nine wounded explained that they had paid a bloody price.

Ætharr gave orders to leave the dead to rest in this forsaken tomb, but they were not to lie there to be plundered by Oorlog. Others who needed them more took all weapons, armor, even some belts and possessions.

The next morning, Ætharr searched for his friends. All were alive, as well as Coldbane, Blackback and Rojo.

Ferric made a salute, "Everything's taken care of, Ealdor. Any further orders?"

Ætharr gazed at his victorious army. It was made of Jeris, Caladors, and Vireos, yet together they had triumphed.

He pointed north, "We shall pursue Oorlog. Above anything, we should harass him to lower his strength."

Ferric and the rest went off, calling orders. The weasel stayed on the mound of stone, absent-mindedly kicking at a stone. He had led an army to victory; young as he was, they had followed him.

They marched slowly through the Verfluchtes Land, ignoring the skeletons with the leering skulls. Occasionally, they found fresh bodies of Oorlog's soldiers that died of their wounds.

Ætharr secretly felt glad when they departed from that eerie place of death and curse. So were the troops.

Beyond the Ridge of the Dead was more mountainous land, but it was far greener, with herbs, grass, even a few trees clinging to life among the rocks. It was a welcome relief to those who had fought their first fight in the shield wall.

The small army made camp, took out rations, and laid out blankets to sleep in the open.

Ætharr went looking, instead, for a patch of soft grass. Once it was found, he rested his weary body. He had slept little in the last two days, and he was keen on some rest.

He dreamed of Ælfer. He stood at the head of a mighty army of Millar clanbeasts.

The image faded, replaced by a young otter running through the forest.

Then another image came. The mountain of Salamandastron, guarded by fighting hares, and ruled by Badger Lords.


	8. Chapter 8

8

Judos had gone in the direction of the dormitories, then had changed course to go straight for the heart of Mossflower.

Now he swam downriver with all the otter skills he could use. He didn't know where to go, but he knew whom to look for. Occasionally as he swam, he would gather a good heavy river pebble for his sling.

He felt sad that he couldn't bring Mellor with him, but what was done was done, and he could not go back now just to go for his friend.

Apart from the fish or the occasional bird, he had not seen a single creature other than himself. Not that he cared too much for now.

Instead, he viewed Mossflower from an otter's view. It truly explained why otters loved swimming rather than walking. The sun had risen high in the sky, and it's slanted rays, due to the trees, now caused parts of the running river to shine with a blinding light. The rest of the river was darker, and the trees and marsh was half illuminated.

Judos went underwater, snapping a fish in his teeth. Surfacing, the young otter took the fish in his paws, and swam to a muddy part of the bank to eat.

Sitting down in the soft, warm mud, many things raced through Judos' head. He thought back to when Abbott Varrus had dismissed him. He had known what Judos would do, but he had let him go anyway. And Mellor was not here to help. He never had told him what had driven him to escape because he had considered it so personal, maybe also because he had barely believed it himself for a while.

Judos got up, saw how filthy he was from the mud, and plunged into the water to wash.

When he got back above water, he stared straight into a dozen blades.

A short, grubby old fox stood in the foreground, backed by a score of stoats, half of them armed with long pikes, which they leveled on their new victim.

Judos stared in horror as they glanced at the haversack.

_No, don't open it… please…_

The fox leered at the expression on Judos' face, "Weel, now. If it ain't a young h'otter takin' a bath."

Judos gripped his sling underwater. They did not see him make the action, so it was a small advantage.

Judos decided he could buy some time, "I think we can reason something out between the… ehh…twenty-one of us."

The fox fingered a dagger, "Hee hee. Looks like we got us'ns a bit of humour. Mayhaps e' has a few more jokes in store for us!"

Judos saw his chance, "Right, here's a knee-slapper for you, mate!"

Whipping out his sling, he slung a fast rock at the fox. The heavy pebble crashed into his leg.

The fox howled in agony, collapsing. The stoats, unsure of what to do, fumbled. Shooting backwards, Judos sent more rocks swiftly, and well out of range of their pikes.

The stoats could do nothing, as they had no ranged weapons. So they decided to overwhelm the otter. Dropping their cumbersome weapons, they pulled out knives and plunged into the slow-moving current.

Judos was panicked, but knew he truly had the upper paw. Ducking underwater, he swam down the bank, and resurfaced. Whipping a few more rocks at them to goad them on, the otter ducked down once again, this time swimming to his original landing. Slowly rising up so only his nose was on the surface; he watched the stoats, in a clumsy mass, head downstream.

Only the fox and a few unconscious stoats remained. The fox was whining, clutching an obviously broken limb. Judos, in his mercy, knocked the fox out, and made a hasty splint out of a pike and the fox's sash.

One of the stoats looked back and saw him, "You, riverdog! Stop!"

Grabbing the haversack, Judos plunged into the forest. Hearing shouts behind him, the young otter doubled his pace. Too late did he notice that he was nearing the edge of a hill.

Screaming, the otter, tumbled down the long, and bumpy, trail. Eventually stopping with a crashing halt, the otter picked himself up and hurried on.

Hearing nothing, he eventually stopped. But something told him to find a hiding place and fast. Spotting a tree with low branches, he climbed it as best as he could. He began to wish that he were back in the water.

Freezing, he heard harsh snarls nearing where he was. Scurrying towards where the leaves were thickest, he listened to the footsteps and voices.

"Thought I 'eard somethin' over here."

"Aah, yore hearin' things again."

"Well, let's just check the place to be sure."

As they neared, Judos could identify the speakers. There was a tattooed weasel, a scarred stoat, and an oversized rat. Behind them, there were about ten assorted vermin.

"Was that Dirtface an' his lot?" there was anticipation in the voice now. Judos assumed that they referred to the grubby fox he had seen earlier.

"Aye, well, the worst of luck to him if'n it is. I think I heard it that way."

The vermin headed in the direction that Judos had come from.

"Oy, there's some tracks here."

A lithe fox with a blue bandanna had jumped down on all fours, and sniffed the earth, eyes intent on the mess Judos had made in his haste to escape.

Judos went stiff with terror. Foxes were expert trackers.

The lithe fox followed the tracks, stopping at the foot of the tree. Slowly, he looked up.

Judos did it out of complete instincts. Whirling his sling, the fox received a stone in the nose. Yelping, the fox danced around, clutching his swelling snout.

The others paused in astonishment. It gave Judos time to whip two more slingstones at the vermin.

Howling, the vermin jumped at the tree. Some, mainly the rats, fell down after a few seconds. Others, like the ferrets and weasels, clung to the strong branches, and started climbing.

Judos was panicking. He was caught for sure. He began to wish that he had stayed back with Mellor. He should never have got himself into this situation.

All of a sudden, he saw an opportunity. The branch he was on was in level with another branch on the tree. He was no squirrel, but he had a feeling he could make it. Anything that avoided the fate of a murderous and painful death was welcome.

Bracing himself, he ran for the end of the branch. The vermin, realizing what the young otter was doing, roared in anger.

Judos jumped, and the wails and shouts of the vermin were lost in the keening thrill of the moment. For the briefest second, he hung in midair, but then his body crashed into a clump of leaves. The haversack, still on his back, nearly fell off.

But Judos did not care. He bounded for the next tree, knowing a golden opportunity when he saw one.

He dived for the next tree, but in his haste, had not calculated the distance.

Plunging downwards, he screamed, oblivious of branches whipping at his body.

The haversack's waterproof material was torn.

He didn't feel the fall, as he was already unconscious.

Slowly, groggily, he awoke, not knowing how long it had been since he had fallen. Fancy an otter playing at being a squirrel!

He realized he was bound to a thick oak tree. The three leaders of the vermin group were plundering his haversack.

The tattooed weasel suddenly gave a call of astonishment. The others were amazed.

Judos knew what they had found before they showed it to the rest. The Abbey had two great treasures, and of those two, Judos had taken the only one that could fit in his haversack. And even then it had barely fit.

Martin's magnificent sword shone like it had been forged yesterday. The red ruby pommel was dark as good wine, the black hilt untarnished, and the blade glowed in the fringed sunlight of the forest.

Judos was furious that he had brought it. Why did he take that cursed vision seriously? Martin would have killed him if he could see him now.

The weasel, sheathed the sword, clutched it close to him, and pulled out his own battered blade, "I gots dibs on this. An' I'll slay anyone who'd want it for hisself."

Judos struggled with the ropes, leaning down to try and bite it free, but he couldn't reach the heavy rope with his teeth.

The weasel now holding Martin's sword now sat down, pleased with himself, "The Chief won't care that Dirtface and 'is lot escaped. Oho, I fancy myself gettin' a promotion fer this little beauty."

Judos was panicking now. He had to break free! He just had to!

Suddenly, there was an unfamiliar call sounding the air. The vermin evidently recognized it, for they had jumped up and started bumping into each other in their haste to escape.

Judos heard it more clearly now, as footsteps not from the vermin came up. It was still strange sounding, but Judos took solace from it.

"Logalogalogalogaloooooooog!"

Suddenly, from the bushes came shrews. Shrews wielding rapiers and slings. Shrews wearing bright-colored bandannas and rough vests. Shrews calling the same battle cry over and over again.

"Logalogalogaloooooog!"

The vermin ran for cover. Judos scanned for the tattooed weasel clutching Martin's sword. But he had disappeared with two others, one of whom was the oversized rat.

The rest of the vermin were scattered. The shrews cheered their victory, and then they noticed the otter tied to the tree.

Swiftly, an older shrew came forward, pulling out a small knife. He hacked at the ropes, "Ho there, otter! Are you alright?"

But Judos was so worked up by the fact that the weasel had escaped, that he burst into tears. The older shrew sighed, and ordered a tent found for the otter.

Later that day, Judos had calmed, and went outside. The shrews had made camp while he had rested, and it looked as thought there was a whole village arrayed.

Judos went to where the older shrew sat. The shrew indicated a seat for the young otter.

"Say, I owe you thanks. I was in a fix."

The shrew brushed it away, "We was after em' anyway. They've been pesky of late. You're from the Abbey aren't you?"

Judos was shook off balance by this question, "Aye. How did you know?"

The shrew chuckled, "You Redwallers have them accents. It's easy to recognize it."

Judos held out his hand, "My name is Judos, son of Judos."

The shrew grinned wryly, and held the bigger creature's hand. Judos was surprised at the very strong grip of the smaller, stocky shrew.

"I'm Log a Log Gunnar, leader of the Gousim."

Judos nodded. The Gousim had visited Redwall many times before, though the Log a Log rarely visited of late.

Judos accepted a pint of shrewbeer from a nearby shrew, "So where are you headed?"

Log a Log shrugged, "We were occupied with finding that particular band."

Judos looked grim, "Well, there's a few left. And they have something of great value."

Log a Log, too, grew serious, "I thought I saw the Sword of Martin.' He grew suspicious, 'so how does a young Redwall otter find himself losing the Sword of Martin the Warrior?" He closed his eyes in exasperation when he figured it out.

Judos nodded bitterly, "I am a runaway. I took the sword, because I am a fool."

Log a Log did not disagree, "So why should I return it to you?"

Judos looked at him, stunned. Log a Log was suddenly holding the Sword of Martin in his paws.

Log a Log hesitated, "I don't know what is to become of you should the Abbey demand the sword back and you cannot return it. But I do not think that I will yield this sword to an irresponsible young un'."

Judos saw where this was going, "So, what say you to my earning it back?"

Log a Log thought of it, and shrugged, "I'd welcome it."

Judos smiled, and stuck out his hand, "I'll give you my services until you give me the sword back."

Log a Log hesitated for the briefest moment, and shook the otter's hand. "Alright by myself. And you?"

Judos shrugged, "I need the sword. I can't leave it behind."

"Well, I suppose you're our new recruit. Welcome to the Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower."

Secretly, Judos figured he had no hope of remembering that.

Log a Log leaned back, "So why did you take the Sword of Martin with you?"

Judos felt uncomfortable. How could he so openly discuss that? He had done because of that dream, so long ago. He had taken it because the feeling inside of him had told him to do so.

He stayed quiet, absent-mindedly chewing some bread. Log a Log said nothing to pursue the subject, but instead, put the sword of Martin in his tent.

The next day, the shrews broke camp, and went to the river, where their long logboats were kept. On the way, Judos counted eighty shrews in total.

He fell in with a young shrew that seemed to be resisting the discipline of the march. The shrew, despite himself, gaped at the size of the otter, which in truth was the same age as the shrew.

Judos smiled at the tough-looking face and swagger that the shrew put into his walk. So much like Mellor. "I'm Judos."

The shrew wondered if sheer apathy and scorn would settle him, but the otter, on the other hand, was twice his height. He wondered if Judos could smile now, but could easily beat him to a pulp when insulted.

He decided to answer, "Marros, son of Lokri."

Judos sensed that he truly did not want to socialize. It was a pity, but he moved on. It was what he had always wanted people to do with himself.

Eventually, the forest gave way to the river. It was nearly the same area where Judos had encountered the fox.

The logboats, Judos noted, were carved from tree trunks. There were eighteen of the boats sprawled on the shore of the river, but ready to be pushed out to use.

Judos proved to be a very useful beast with the logboats. They were very heavy for him, but he swallowed back his opinions, and got them out. The shrews were far from idle; everyone was given a task.

Log a Log indicated the largest one, evidently his, "Mayhaps you'll fit well enough in that."

Judos, personally, found that it was a tight squeeze for him, but he bit his tongue to prevent from complaining.

The flotilla paddled downstream. There was little wind, a bright sun, and Judos reckoned he could be much worse off.


	9. Chapter 9

9

Roaveen was eager to hope for the fact that the Mountain Regiment would become an efficient fighting unit. The troops were eager as always, and his father had allowed him to take his pick of weapons from the armory.

The leverets had shown a little uncomfortable position while wielding the long, heavy pikes that seasoned warriors of the Long Patrol wielded with ease. The swords, axes, and other weapons that would normally be wielded by recruits slightly older than they, by perhaps five seasons.

Roaveen was discouraged, and his two brothers recognized it, which made Roaveen realized it was a matter of pride, and the ability to rule the mountain.

Korari was young, and loved to laugh at Thornback's snide jokes and clever wit. Roaveen was always infuriated by these comments, and used his large size to hold his own. The tension merely steeped up.

It was on one such occasion that Roaveen was training the Mountain Regiment to use the bows that all starters used. However, even these bows were proving too hard for the leverets to use.

Korari, remembering his strain and struggles with his archery skills, and his brother's bullying matter, laughed on the sidelines. Roaveen glanced angrily at his youngest brother.

A young leveret named Jutsin grimaced, and let loose an arrow that went wildly off course. Korari and some hares the age of the Mountain Regiment recruits laughed. One glare from the Regiment's commander silenced all but Korari.

"So, brother! Why don't you show them how it's done then."

Roaveen, his teeth grinding together, nevertheless took the bow from Jutsin. He drew back to loose an arrow into the center.

Had he not been so frustrated and angry, he would have remembered that he was not using his regular bow. His temper, however, had risen so high that it dominated his mind. He drew back using all his strength.

The bow snapped into three pieces. The string was ripped to uselessness. The big badger was left standing with a destroyed bow.

Korari started laughing harder than ever. The others, seeing the danger in staying, fled.

Roaveen turned to see Korari laughing as hard as he could. A roar of fury erupted from the heir to Salamandastron, and he threw himself in the direction of his brother.

Korari, seeing the brutal strength of his brother coming towards him, sobered rapidly, and ran as fast as he could towards the beach. Roaveen pursued him doggedly, oblivious of the sand kicked up that was filling his mouth.

Korari realized how foolish he had been to incur the wrath of his hot-tempered brother, and he changed direction, sprinting towards the entrance into Salamandastron, trusting that even Roaveen would control his temper at the prospect of making an embarrassing scene.

Roaveen was far too angry to lose his brother now. He gave another bellow, and erupted through the high doors, and into the vast interior of the mountain after his brother.

Salamandastron was veritably a city carved within the extinct volcano. Korari was sure that he had an opportunity to escape.

He mounted a stairway, pushing past hares to elude Roaveen.

Roaveen roared at all to stand aside. Many obeyed, and Roaveen drove up the stone steps.

Other hares, however, attempted to stop this. Seahawk and Roselyn were both present, and they hastened to end the madness.

Roaveen was furious enough not to even care about the fact that the hares of Salamandastron were observing him. He wanted to break Korari so that no one would mock him again.

Korari scaled another set of stairs. He could hear his brother even closer behind him than ever.

He saw that he'd never make the top of the stairs. Roaveen was too strong and desperate to catch him.

But he knew he could not just turn and plead for mercy. He forced his burning lungs to wait, and he scaled the stairs with the last energy he could muster.

He made the top. He had no idea how, but he made it.

However, he could not hope to stop. He inhaled deeply, and began to run.

He tripped. The seconds where he had stopped to breathe had given the maddened Roaveen to dash forward, lunge for the top, and grab his brother's foot paws. A wild yell of triumph erupted from him, and he exerted his strength to pull Korari down.

Korari had lost all balance, so instead of grabbing the stairs like Roaveen had thought would happen, he literally fell through thin air. Eventually, a meaty thud sounded as he fell at the bottommost stairs.

Roaveen, and indeed, every hare around him, was speechless. His fury had evaporated, and he realized that he had taken it to a bad level.

Korari was lying spread-eagled on the hard stone floor. A tiny trickle of blood formed where his tooth had been knocked out.

Roaveen emitted a low groan of grief and regret, backed away, turned, and ran to his quarters.

Roselyn, Thornback, and Oakfur pushed their way through towards the young badger, who was slowly rising. Korari had a hand to where three ribs were hurt, but it was unclear to see how hurt it was, and there were bruises everywhere on his body. Along with quite a few cuts and scrapes, and a hard blow on the head.

Oakfur sighed at his youngest son, and turned to witnesses, "Who will tell me what happened here?"

An older hare of the Long Patrol named Krieg stepped forward, "Milord, I've served under your command in many a long battle."

Oakfur nodded solemnly, a little reminiscing smile twitching on the corners of his mouth, "I know you well, Krieg, son of Kamwiss."

Krieg indicated Korari, "Milord's son here was being pursued by Lord Roaveen, who eventually caught him. Lord Korari took a tumble, and Roaveen fled in guilt and shame. That is all, sah."

Oakfur nodded, and turned to his younger son, a stern look developing, "Why was he seeking pain on you?"

Korari flinched at the throb from his ribs, "I scorned him, father."

Oakfur closed his eyes in exasperation, "Son, why do you and Thornback continually taunt your brother?"

Korari flared up, "Roaveen is a bully, and we do nothing but to retal-"

"-Silence!" Oakfur barked at his younger son. He jerked his head, "Go and have your ribs inspected. I shall speak with Roaveen."

Korari nodded, and left, a trace of a tear in his eye. His father was a noble, efficient, and just ruler, but he knew that Roaveen would always come before Thornback and he.

Oakfur turned towards Thornback, "Bring Roaveen to me."

Thornback went to Roaveen's chamber. A few minutes later, Roaveen walked in, all traces of anger withdrawn from his face. Instead, there was humility, and at the same time, a defiance.

Oakfur looked at his eldest son, "You brother told me what happened."

Roaveen looked his father in the eye, ready to protest, but thought better of it.

Oakfur never broke his gaze, "It occurs to me that your Mountain Regiment may need some experience. You will pick fifteen of my veterans, and Krieg will be your lieutenant." He gestured towards the older warrior, who bowed low to both father and son, "And you will apologize to your brother who will report to me if you meant it or not."

Thornback, standing to the side, saw what his father had done. Roaveen wanted sole independence on the concerns of his new Mountain Regiment. Now, however, Oakfur was ordering him to choose from a selection of offers. Thornback was, to say, a little disgusted by it. It would definitely rankle at Roaveen's pride to have to accept his father's influence on his regiment, and to have to apologize to his brother, but the punishment was very light.

Thus the whole argument was settled. Roaveen gave a profound apology to his brother, and gave a heartfelt welcome to the newly promoted Lieutenant Krieg and fifteen veterans of the Long Patrol. But the resentment between older and younger brothers did not abate.

However, time went on as usual. Salamandastron continued to stand. Patrols were sent, food was grown on the cultivated areas of the mountain, and the three brothers continued to grow.

Roaveen, although he hesitated to admit it, found that the veterans hastened the discipline of his Mountain Regiment. Plus, Roaveen knew that it would be some time before the young recruits could use the weapons used by the veterans, so he decided to fashion them as slingers prior to the heftier weapons. By a season and a half's end, every one of them could sling an accurate rock as far as 40 yards. Roaveen also worked on their fitness, so that every morning, the badger and his hundred soldiers could be seen running laps along the beach.

If Thornback had been annoyed with the lack of punishment his elder brother had been given, he was now furious. If Roaveen was resentful, he did not show it. And why should he? The Mountain Regiment was running much more smoothly.

Korari had long recovered, but he shared Thornback's resentment.

They decided to speak to their father.

Oakfur, as he had always done for so many seasons of his life, worked in his forge for the entire morning, stopping for lunch, and then would go and do his duties as Badger Lord. He loved the forge's heat, the freedom to make anything out of the twisting metal, and also the noises.

This morning was no different. Thornback and Korari went to the forge entrance. Korari knocked on the door.

"Enter!" Oakfur called out over the clanging of his forge hammer.

Thornback and Korari went in.

The forge was an ancient room that had been the natural room of Badger Lords. It had originally been smaller, but growth in the stock of weapons necessary had caused the smith to be enlarged over the years. There was a space on the west wall where the fire burned almost endlessly. The armory had been moved into a much larger room to make room for the newly forged weapons.

Oakfur was completely at home in the forge. There was space enough for him to work without having to move anything.

At present, he sat, munching at a meal of fish. Traditionally, meat was highly uncommon, but Oakfur's grandfather had nurtured a liking for a roasted fish. Since then, fish were scantily taken from the sea. Once, Roaveen had actually seen an exhausted bird ebbing its life out. Putting it out of its misery, he then tried roasted seabird. He had always said it had a unique taste.

Now, however, the Lord of Salamandastron was frequently having a lunch of fish.

He looked at his two sons, "So?"

Thornback stepped forward, "Father, I have a problem with how you value your sons."

Oakfur knew what it was about. Thornback had been ever resentful of late. He was not happy about how Roaveen could get away with certain things, while he or Korari got the worse end.

Oakfur, however, was a very stubborn beast, and he met up to his son's challenge, "Thornback, I do not want to hear this over and over."

"Then do something about it and you won't hear me complain!" Thornback thundered, riled up by what he saw as a lost cause.

Oakfur's face went hard and cold, "Don't you dare speak to your father like that, Thornback."

Thornback said nothing for a moment. He just stared at his father.

Korari, who normally did not dare speak like that to his father, was full of admiration for his brother. Roaveen could be defiant, too, but he never went as far as Thornback. Thornback was a real piece of work.

Thornback spoke up again, this time full of defiance and daring, "Lord, I refuse to stand for this longer. If we are not treated fairly, I will leave the mountain."

He turned on his back and left the heated forge room, blinking back a tear, and leaving his brother and father stunned.

He was incorrigible. No one could talk him out of it; Thornback was set on his goal. He did not know if his father would make the first move, but he knew it would hurt to leave the mountain.

But as the days passed, Oakfur did nothing different. He also looked at Thornback differently, as though he was walking out of the mountain. It was a colder attitude than before, almost demanding his departure.

So on one such morning, a hare went to summon Thornback to breakfast, and found the bed neatly made, and a letter stating that Thornback, the resentful middle son of Oakfur, had left.


	10. Chapter 10

10

Ætharr rested his paws in a bucket of water. He, Coldbane, and Ferric had led raids this past afternoon.

He had led his forces on a border war. Oorlog had gone to the land of the Hunan tribe to get reinforcements. And there were reinforcements aplenty.

Ætharr had really grown in the season and a half. He had grown used to carrying his three axes, plus at least eight hatchets and sometimes his shield.  
He was still very young for a leader, but experience in war, and the scars to show it, gave him the appearance of someone older.

He had led his soldiers after Oorlog ever since the encounter in Verfluchtes Land. There had been quite few skirmishes with the polecat, and the losses showed it. The number of the High Guard and the Calador weasels now numbered fifty-three in total. The martens had suffered losses, but there had been a large increase in their numbers due to the amount of volunteers rallying to win back their tribal lands.

Ætharr looked at his forces, now numbering about two hundred and thirty. They mingled almost naturally: Vireo, Jeri, and Calador. Fighting together created surprisingly strong bonds among soldiers.

He glanced at his cousin, Ædall. Ædall, too, had gained maturity and experience on the battlefield. He was at present, sharpening his large battleaxe. Ætharr trusted his cousin more than anyone else.

Jinn and Horal were the same as ever, apart from the same factor that had affected Ætharr and Ædall. The difference with Jinn, though, was that his power of persuasion, spying, and subtlety had greatly increased. Some would warn Ætharr not to trust Jinn, thinking the crafty weasel too dangerous, but Ætharr did not doubt his friends for a second.

Also among his leaders were Coldbane, Ferric, and Rojo, Blackback having left a season ago, taking thirty martens to his master's heir. Ætharr was sad to lose Blackback, but he knew that in a week, Blackaxe, Ibos and the rest were coming to meet him at his designated campsite.

But until then, those days were easy-going. They were well rooted, having built a wooden wall around the camp, and Oorlog was laying low for the time being. Occasionally, they sent out raids, often with Rojo, Ætharr, or Ædall as the leader, but for the most part, they hung back from fighting. It gave them time to repair weapons, and prepare for war.

Indeed, as the meeting date drew near, Ætharr anticipated nothing much else to happen.

He was wrong on a warm, bright afternoon.

Jinn, who had been standing on guard, called out an alarm. A call of fury arose from outside the palisade.

Ætharr and his officers rallied the soldiers to the wall. Jinn had picked off a dozen from his deadly accurate bow, but there were still about two hundred assorted vermin, with Oorlog in the head.

Ætharr smiled. He had the enemy outnumbered, and the advantage of the wall. He called out orders to his forces, organizing a small group of thirty beasts down at the gate in case the vermin broke through.

Ædall hurled a hatchet at a rat trying to break through the wall, bellowing his wrath at the Hunan attackers. Rojo and Coldbane hacked at grapnels that were being thrown up.

The vermin were halted everywhere along the walls, almost as though they were purposely failing. Ætharr began to feel suspicious. He nodded at Ferric, "There's something amiss here. It's almost as if they're waiting for something."

Oorlog fed their suspicions. He was smiling broadly as his army was gradually breaking itself. Was he expecting something?

Instinctively, both weasels looked at the opposite wall. Nothing was wrong over there. Ferric looked down at the gate.

The thirty beasts at the gate were looking up curiously, guessing what was going on. But as Ætharr and Ferric were about to scan the rest of the fort, a marten leaped from the ranks and started unlocking the wall. Just as the others looked in surprise, four other martens slew the nearest ones, driving the others back so their comrade could open the gate.

Ætharr snarled in surprise. A bribe! A betrayal!

"Rally to me!" he called to the nearest allies. He, Ferric, and fifty soldiers hurried down to the gate.

The marten at the gate turned to see what was going on, and was spitted by Ferric's arrow. Ætharr cut down another marten, while the survivors of the guard swarmed the other three.

Too late.

The Hunan army had rushed forward, and finished the job. Now the allies were split on staying on the wall, and rushing to stem the flood. And there also came a surprise reserve of another two hundred and fifty. The tide had turned drastically.

Ætharr and Rojo went back to back. There was no time for a shield wall. It was just bloody gutter fighting from here on out. Interestingly, some allies, like Ædall, were content to have the room to use their weapons best.

Ætharr gave a keening call of war, drew a long-handled battleaxe, and his hand axe, dropping the shield. He went at it like a maelstrom, both axe blades swinging violently, spraying blood.

The fighting raged. Both sides were in their battle-wrath, fighting furiously for survival.

Ætharr and Rojo were split apart by a large fox with no left eye. Rojo was content to swing his mace and chain at him while Ætharr swung at a rat and a ferret, slaying both in a heartbeat.

Ædall fought his way over, his huge battleaxe swung like a butcher's cleaver. Ætharr looked round for everyone else. Rojo had killed the fox, and was shouldering a wounded Calador weasel. Horal was dueling a skilful ferret, completely out of place in such a brawl as this. Jinn and Ferric were sending shafts into the madness. Coldbane was bulling his way with a Calador shield and a scimitar, cursing the Hunan soldiers for worms.

"We need some organization!" Ædall called out to his cousin. He had taken a spear blade on his forearm.

Ætharr flinched as a dagger grazed his breastplate. Both axe blades bit down deep in the offender's shoulders, "Rally the Caladors and High Guard. Let the martens fight in their element."

Ædall nodded, and plunged towards five Caladors.

Oorlog's laughter was suddenly heard. He was pushing his own troops aside, trying to enter the fight.

Anger rose in Ætharr like bubbling water. He dropped an axe at his feet, and selected a hatchet. A Vireo High Guard, seeing whom Ætharr was aiming for, provided cover for the Ealdor in Exile.

Oorlog was waving his machetes in the air, shrieking at his army to let him through to the slaughter. Ætharr half-closed an eye, and hurled his hatchet.

It flew true, hitting Oorlog in the ribs. Ætharr hoped it wouldn't kill him; no, he wanted the Hunan warlord alive for the moment.

The nearest vermin carried Oorlog away, while the others began to falter.

Ætharr went to the bulwark formed by his cousin. They pressed forward, cutting at the vermin.

All of a sudden, Jinn blew a horn. It rang over the sounds of battle.

Astonished, Ætharr and Ædall came to the wall. Jinn was wearing a wonder-filled smile that was a rare thing for him to wear.

There was a force of soldiers on the nearby hill. They flew a blue banner on which a sun woven with gold thread gleamed. Inside the sun was a bold letter C in silver. The host advanced in a shield wall, and they chanted a name.

Ætharr went numb. He knew that banner. It was the sacred banner of the Calador Ealdor. Ælfer was here!

Jinn, reading Ætharr's mind, shook his friend lightly on the shoulder, "Listen!"

Ætharr obeyed. A faint chant sounded

"Æthaaarrrrrr! Æthaaarrrrr!"

Ætharr felt sudden tears in his eyes. He was filled with a wondrous, vibrant feeling. Loyal Caladors!

But even more surprises were to come. From both flanks of the hill, came two other forces. One was consisting of martens, with a red banner displaying a fist clutching a short ax. Blackaxe! The other force was a large variety, and held a banner of a stag holding its head high. An unmistakable black ferret could be seen in front with another. Ibos!

Ætharr swiftly led all the remaining allies from the wall in a magnificent charge to the brawl that was fast becoming their fight. Arrows were hastily shot in a last volley before blades were hefted. Jinn snarled as he jabbed a long spear at an offending fox. Ferric, unable to draw his sword in time, sprang at another weasel, and the two started to duke it out. Ætharr and six Caladors cleaved a bloody path towards Ædall and his group. Ædall gave a loud laugh, swung his axe a last time, and the cousins embraced.

The three forces came at a steady pace. Oorlog, up and clutching his wound, spat at his forces to retreat.

Ædall added insult to injury by stunning the polecat with an apple to the skull. The rest slunk away to regroup somewhere over the border.

The fort's battered appearance meant little to the Blackaxe and Ibos, who cheered Ætharr's depleted, but jubilant army. There were also the two leaders of the Calador force, and they stayed in the background for the moment.

Ibos and Blackaxe, too, had been liberating the country. Blackaxe had mustered an army of over six hundred martens and had completely driven the Hunan warriors from the southern territory.

Ibos, Ætharr observed, had grown on the battlefield. He looked and acted more confident, spoke more boldly, and had gained much strength in his limbs. To surprise Ætharr further, a lot of Ibos' troops were wearing the stag on a strip of cloth round the forearm.

Ibos saw where Ætharr was looking, and smiled, "My father has sent a dispatch to honour the new alliance between Calador, Vireo, and Jeri." He also said Nero would have come personally, but there had been a disturbance of late among the easternmost villages.

Blackback, it seemed, had gone back to Nero with copies of paper prepared by Jinn, Ætharr's trusted spy and agent, and Ergot the stunted scribe. Nero had willingly signed them, and as a surprise, Blackback had summoned a third of his war band. He left the greater percentage behind to manage the lands he held as Lord of the western territory. Also among the host was a third of Coldbane's band that had begged to be reunited to their lord. Together, they totaled a hundred and ninety warriors, and there were thirty of Nero's elite veterans.

Ætharr, already proud of what his allies had done, was saved the best news for last.

Two Calador weasels approached him. They were clearly Calador because of their size, which was larger than other weasels, but based on their fine armour and their gold torques they were also theigns.

Ætharr had not expected this. Two theigns had actually risked the danger of coming to join him! Beside him, Ædall, Jinn, Ferric, Horal, and the veterans of Ætharr's journey stood and looked at the new arrivals.

The older stepped forward, "My Lord Ealdor, I am Aletorix, longtime theign and comrade in arms of your father. I know it was a risk to come to you, but I cannot stand the Traitor's allowing the Millars attempt to overrun the country."

The bigger stood beside him, "I am Leofir, son of Theodif, a theign who served your father well and proudly. Alas, he is dead now, so I now live to serve the Rightful Ealdor."

With that, the two theigns, and their whole army knelt to the Ealdor in Exile.

Ætharr was filled with a deep emotion that brought new tears to his eyes. He tried to speak but he found he could not. He just stared at the Calador army that bowed low to him. He was no longer the boy Ealdor unable to resist his uncle, and though he was still young, he was a warrior, and a leader.

Then, he found his voice, "Rise, my friends."

The theigns did not rise completely, but walked forward on their knees, indicating they wished to swear allegiance formally to him.

Drawing his hand axe and one of his longer axes, he crossed them in front of the theigns. One by one, Aletorix and Leofir kissed the point where the axes crossed, and swore the oath of allegiance to the Rightful Ealdor.

Ætharr smiled at the army, "Caladors, I do not promise you much, except a better future for us all, and freedom from my uncle's tyranny.' The army thumped weapons in approving. 'Already I have ensured that we will become greater than before. There will be a triple alliance between Calador, Vireo, and Jeri.' That got some murmurs of astonishment, but it was not opposed. 'And now, Caladors, I lead you to war, and glory, and victory. And it will not only be here, but across the lands of the tribes. It will spread to Mossflower, down into Southsward, and even to Salamandastron itself!' Cheers began, 'It will be our glory, the rise of Calador!"

The cheers rang long and loud now. Ætharr had truly won them over with his promises. He was ready to be the Ealdor and warlord of Calador.

The rest of the afternoon was spent burying the dead and caring for the wounded. The numbers of dead were high, so that only eight High Guard, twenty Caladors, and ninety martens were left of Ætharr's force. The Vireo survivors chose to remain under Ætharr's command. War made friendships thick as love.

That evening, he organized a meeting between those of authority. Aletorix, Leofir, Blackaxe, Ibos, Redjaw (Who had been promoted to rank of captain), Blackback, Ervaring, Coldbane, Rojo, Ædall, Jinn, Horal, and Ferric were sitting in a circle formation. Ætharr sat on the northern end, as befitted the leader of the council.

"We are at a good stand here, my friends. We have at present, seven hundred martens under arms, as well as two hundred twenty Vireo's and five hundred Caladors." Two hundred came with Aletorix; another two hundred from Leofir's lands, and a last hundred came to join their theign Ferric.

Blackaxe spoke up, "While Oorlog will have eleven hundred soldiers."

Ibos raised a hand, "Aye, but it's quality that counts, not quantity."

Redjaw shook his head, "Some o' those vermin with Oorlog are real warriors. It'll be a rare bloodbath before this is over."

Ædall thumped the ground with his big battleaxe, "So be it, then!" others like Blackback and Rojo agreed.

Ætharr nodded at his cousin, and turned to the whole committee, "In total, we have truly gained ground. Oorlog has been driven back, but we all know that he has been surprised several times. When he musters the grand force we know he can, it will be much more difficult."

Blackaxe nodded, thinking ahead as the conversation progressed.

Ibos spoke up, "We should continue to surprise him."

Blackback shook his head, "He is no fool; he'll counter us."

"Well, then we'll think up summat else." Ervaring countered.

"Aye, so what d'you think we should do?" Aletorix asked.

"We lure them into the double bluff."

All looked to the speaker. Jinn, who had stayed quiet until now, was lounging in his seat, a cunning look in his eyes.

"We organize a trap, which will seem so obviously a trap, that Oorlog will avoid it. Then, when he tries something else to get us by surprise, we will be ready for him."

Ætharr smiled. His friends never let him down, "So what do you propose?"

Jinn shrugged, "We need something that will make Oorlog try something else to exploit the trap's weakness. Then we catch him by surprise."

Leofir looked at the sly weasel, "Aye, but what if Oorlog outthinks us and turns the table? We ought to think o' something more foolproof."

Jinn shrugged again, "If you dwelled on that, then we'll be sitting here 'till doomsday. It goes on and on if you think like that."

Ferric smiled as he attempted to think something out, and realized what Jinn was talking about.

Ætharr gazed at Blackaxe, "Any input?"

The strong, but highly intelligent marten stayed quiet for the briefest moment, and spoke, "I think we should trust Jinn's thinking. If he truly believes that we are all set in a trap, he will brainstorm as to how he could exploit it. We, however, will be a step ahead of him and think of how to surprise him best."

Aletorix approved, "It's clever, only we should alter it a bit."

Ætharr and the others turned to look at the older and experienced theign.

He continued, "I propose instead of looking at the best possible ambush he would use, let's set lookouts at all the ambush spots. Then we'll be ready to move to attack him."

Ibos was puzzled, "So how do we do it?"

Aletorix explained, nodding at those whom he mentioned in his plan, "I say that we divide the army among us. Redjaw has a good knowledge of the land, and of the Hunan's movements. He would have fifty martens to stand guard. When the direction of attack is recognized, he'll muster his group and attack as he sees fit."

The ninety martens that had served Ætharr would be led under Rojo with Ætharr's veterans, and Aletorix and his army. Meanwhile, Blackaxe, leading three hundred martens, would also command Ferric and his hundred troops. Leofir and Blackback would combine their forces, and stick together. That left Ervaring with two hundred martens. They would march alongside Ibos, the remaining High Guard, and the thirty Vireo veterans. Coldbane would be on his own, as would Horal. He would command the remaining sixty martens. Jinn would be with him, and Ædall would march with Ætharr.

So it was decided how the forces were split up. To keep the plot secret, the officers were told not to reveal it to anyone.

It was still undecided when and where this would take place. Ætharr left it at that, and two days later, they broke camp.

Soon, they found an ideal spot for a fort. It was hilly, and there were forests and water easily available.

The army worked together in record time to get the job done, and by the time it was finished, everyone had a place to sleep. Large boulders were placed at the base of the walls for support, and every chieftain had a larger house.

This would be where they would stay for the time being, while the leaders planned for the victory that would decree the victor of the war.


	11. Chapter 11

11

Judos had only been handling the oar for a half a season, but he felt new strength in his body. He and the Gousim had traveled like nomads across the water. Altogether, though, it had not been very eventful. Maybe a sighting of vermin here, a near attack by toads there, but the shrews never had anything huge to fight against.

Then there was Marros. Judos hadn't really talked to him often. Indeed, Marros talked to no one.

Judos knew that he had chosen to go with Gunnar, but he confessed to himself that a large part of him resentful of the order of the Gousim. And it was strict in quite a few areas. Plus, he was wondering when he'd get the sword back. If he'd ever got Martin's sword back. It bothered him to have to work for the sword back, but it irked him also because he owed them his life.

This reached the top point for him on a cool night, when the Gousim broke camp on the shores of the river. Their camp was on the edges of a forest.

Judos smiled as he lay down to sleep. Mellor would have thought of some grand escape plan by now. Poor Mellor, stuck in Redwall without him.

Suddenly a little light started to shine. Judos peered at it for a second, his blinking eyes smarting, and sat up.

It was Marros. He held a little torch in one paw, and a pack over his shoulder. Judos felt as though he was hit with déjà vu. So much like himself, that shrew.

Marros blanched visibly when Judos sat up, but recovered quickly. He stared accusingly at the otter, waiting for the alarm to be called.

Judos was certainly tempted to, but then he realized that had the shoe been on the other foot, he would have wanted the same thing this shrew wanted.

He thought of smiling reassuringly, but realized he would look like a fool, so he just jerked his head in direction of the woods, ignored the look of astonishment from the shrew. He turned back over, closed his eyes, and listened to Marros' footsteps as he made his escape.

A sudden light was lit, and voices called out. Judos leapt up for all the world as though he was the one escaping.

Marros had been watched right from the get go by Log a Log. Judos could tell by the nod and grim twinkle in Log a Log Gunnar's eye.

Marros was staring resentfully at the shrews around him. Log a Log fixed him with a dark look, "Alright, Marros. Once again I have found you trying to sneak away."

Marros dug his foot in the loose dirt. To Judos, it was exactly like watching himself defying the authority against him.

Log a Log nodded at the shrews that had caught him, "So?"

Redmund, a trusted shrew, tapped Marros' shoulder, "He was trying to escape. He thought that instead of crossing the river and slipping into the underbrush, he could get out. But we were stationed in every likely direction he'd go."

Judos was impressed, and resentful. He was feeling very empathetic to the young shrew.

He gave a start when he realized that they were pointing at him.

"He could have stopped Marros, but he looked away instead." Redmund was saying. He looked angry at the thought, and turned to his leader.

Log a Log stared at the young otter with an imperious and stern look. Judos suddenly realized that he was sporting a most defiant gleam in his eye.

Log a Log noticed it, and went to stand only three paces from the otter. Judos was taller than the shrew, but there was something in the older beast that reminded him of the authority in Abbott Varrus, or Mother Sara.

Log a Log spoke first, "Why?" It was all that needed to be said.

Judos was lost for words. He suddenly felt smaller than Marros. He glanced over at the shrew, who looked relieved that the tension was off him. Ungrateful little rat! Judos growled angrily, and jerked to move towards Marros, but Log a Log, who knew what Judos was thinking, headed him off.

Judos looked at the shrew Chieftain, "I let him go."

Log a Log put his hands on his belt, "That is clearly obvious, and does not answer my question."

Judos searched desperately for an answer to that, and came up with an excuse, "It's not my place to interfere with Gousim business."

Log a Log blinked, and slowly turned his head to the others, "Leave us."

The others obeyed, taking Marros with them.

Log a Log turned back to the young otter, "Judos, that is the most bald-faced lie I have ever heard yet. You put yourself into Gousim service, thereby you would be expected to stop one such as him."

Judos felt very resentful; "I figured that I would have wanted the same thing, so I turned the other way. And anyway, I've done much for you already."

The sword. It came back to the sword. Judos had barely ever mentioned it before, he had always assumed that Log a Log would take him aside one day and declare he was fit to hold responsibility of the sword.

But now was different. He had done much for the Gousim, displaying as much responsibility as he saw necessary.

Log a Log shook his head, "Judos, you ran away from Redwall, worrying those who care for your safety and taking their prized possession. When you had the chance to stop Marros, you let him go. I seriously am doubting why I should give it to you."

Fury bubbled into Judos' gullet. A half-season for nothing! For bloody nothing!

"I don't believe you! You would go back on your word just because I am not content being held down!"

Log a Log was deeply stung. Furiously, he spat out, "You listen to me, Judos! You are ungrateful. We took risks saving you, we offer you our hospitality, and now you speak as though you were betrayed! You have almost always shown resent with our customs and rules. So do not speak to me of breaking my word!"

Judos was still angry, but was still surprised at the anger and ferocity in the Gousim leader. But backing down was something Judos never did easily.

He planted himself firmly, and cast a hard look. Deep down, he was surprised at the defiance he could show. In truth, Log a Log was a strong and efficient leader, someone a lot like Abbot Varrus.

Log a Log saw the fierce look in Judos' face, and shook his head, "Judos, why do you want this sword so badly?"

Judos was shaken out of his stance. He shrugged lamely, "It's a long story."

Log a Log gave a small smile, "We have time."

Judos acknowledged that with a flash of his teeth as he smiled back.

So he stood there in the dark with Log a Log Gunnar, and though they didn't know it, Marros and Redmund, whom had both gotten curious at the anger coming from them.

Judos told Gunnar everything, from his life story, to his dream, to his friend Mellor, even the night that ended with Jander in the infirmary, and the two of them doubled the tasks they had originally done. He did not know why he was so open to Log a Log, but the older shrew had a great deal of integrity and was a trustworthy person.

And deep down, though he would never admit it, Judos was sick with keeping everything bottled up. He wanted to tell someone.

By the end of it, Log a Log was silent. He was awash with thoughts; humour at the many failed escapes, sadness for the death of his parents, frustration at the thought of the disobedience this otter must have shown to everyone. He also didn't know what to say to Judos.

Judos was silent, scarcely believing that he had had the nerve to spit out all there was to say.

Log a Log glanced at the sword of Martin, "So you say that this Martin mouse gave you the sword."

Judos shrugged, "That's how I interpreted it at least."

Log a Log flashed a grin, "Well, I think he chose well."

Judos, complimented, turned a shade of pink, "You flatter me."

Log a Log shook his head briskly, "I flatter no beast.' He stiffly offered his paw, 'I apologize for the words I said tonight to you."

Smiling sheepishly, Judos shook paws, "I'm sorry too. It was out of order."

Log a Log impatiently waved it away, "Not to be thought of anymore."

Judos thought the same, "You're not the first who's had to put up with me."

Log a Log glanced at the sword of Martin the Warrior, "So, what to do with this?"

Judos, thinking, shrugged, "It's your decision. If I'm not worthy for its responsibility, then by all means, take it back to Redwall."

Log a Log looked at it a while again. He looked back up to the young otter, "Is there someone in Redwall that wields this sword?"

Judos nodded, "Raga. And he was born for it." He suddenly wondered how furious Raga would be now that Judos had left with his sword.

Log a Log looked thoughtful, "I know Raga. He's a very efficient warrior, and a good person."

Judos hesitated, fearful of what kind of repercussion his words would give him. However, he still said them anyway, "He earned the right to become the Warrior. He is the rightful Keeper of the sword."

"A very nice way of putting it." A strangely familiar voice spoke up behind Judos.

Log a Log looked surprised at who it was. Judos turned around, and gave a start in shock, "You!!!"


	12. Chapter 12

12

Thornback's departure was hardly ever mentioned, least of all around Oakfur, who acted as though his son betrayed him. Now only Korari and the friends he had, regretted the departure of Oakfur's intelligent middle child.

The one who was benefiting most was, not surprisingly, Roaveen. The Mountain Regiment had become expert slingers, and the heir was now considering moving on to something of the weapons like the light lances that some hares in the Long Patrol preferred to the heavier ones.

Korari and Roaveen were still at odds, but without Thornback, Korari found it considerably more difficult to stand up to him. It would end with Korari looking the fool, or looking the war veteran.

Oakfur was gruffer due to Thornback's departure, and as a result, Korari felt very lonely. Thornback had been his rock, his best friend.

Two new rocks were in his place though. Colonel Seahawk and newly promoted Major Jackers, lifetime friends and campaigners, sympathized with him and often stuck up for him.

But the other officers of the Long Patrol could not help but pointing out Roaveen's growing prowess. His efforts in the Mountain Regiment were finally turning eyes and attention, especially after one specific situation.

It happened two weeks after Thornback's departure, on a cold and windy afternoon. Roaveen and the Mountain Regiment were exercising as usual, the wind giving them a welcome cool-off from the hard run.

Roaveen was in the fore with most of the veterans around him, followed by the younger recruits, though that would soon change in a season or two; the youngsters would rapidly build up their endurance, until the veterans would be left behind by the leverets.

Roaveen was engaged in a gasping conversation with Lieutenant Krieg, who had warmed to the promising badger.

Leaflock, the most promising and beloved of Roaveen's forces, had seen it first. He was panting along, his eyes beginning to wander. Suddenly, in a loud voice, he called out a warning.

Roaveen and Krieg turned to see what was the matter.

Searats!

A black, tattered ship's sail was nearing closer and closer. A multitude of dark creatures were scuttling around on the deck.

Roaveen knew it was useless to hide. If he could see them, then they had certainly seen him. Searats had amazing eyesight compared to other rats.

Many of the young leverets were terrified at the thought of the searats and fighting them.

Krieg glanced at Roaveen. It was up to the commander of the unit to take charge.

Roaveen, after a second's hesitation, called out in a loud voice, "Mountain Regiment! Rally!"

The veterans, old in war, bounded obediently to their officers' sides. The leverets were a little less quick, and no wonder, Krieg had thought. This was their first battle, and it would be fought, it seemed, with nothing but the slings in their paws.

Roaveen gestured at the ground, "Gather the stones, now!" he knew that their fate would rest on their ability to follow orders, and attack while suppressing their fear.

The veterans took charge; one especially, an old and grizzled fellow named Liofe, barked at the hares to form three lines.

The Regiment, so used to this drill formed three lines as of thirty. That left ten to gather supplies of good, hard stones.

Roaveen glanced at some of the younger ones. They were terrified, but tried not to show it. Roaveen knew that instant that maybe it was too early for one or two of them to master the ability to kill.

He shouted for two of them to come to his side. They came shaking, Werise and Milos.

He bent down so he was face to face with them, "I need you two to go warn the Long Patrol and my father of this. Hurry!"

Milos offered his commander very shaky salute, looking scared enough to faint. Werise, however, was making an effort to stand firm. "We won't fail you, Lord!" she said in a brave voice.

With that, they sped in the direction of the mountain.

Roaveen nodded in admiration, and turned his full attention to his Regiment.

The searats were jeering at the group coming to face them. Their captain was ordering the helms rat to hold her where she was. An iron anchor, green with mold, was hurled into the water.

Roaveen made a position beside the front rank. The veterans were encouraging the leverets to be brave, but the searats were now advancing in longboats.

Roaveen nodded to himself. They were in range!

Suddenly he called out to Lieutenant Krieg, a grim smile of teeth flashing, "Let's stir up the stew with a war-cry!"

With that, he threw his head back and howled his challenge, his eyes turning misty with wrath, "Eeeeeuuuuullllaaaaallliiiiaaaaaa!"

The Regiment added their voices, and it seemed to the leverets, that for a moment, the searats hesitated. But the moment passed.

Roaveen filled his lungs, "Mountain Regiment! Rank volleys!"

The Regiment knew that command. They started the rank volley, where the first volley would launch a hail of stones, kneel down to pick up stones, and the second and third ranks would do likewise.

The stones flew through the air, about half clattering on wood or skimming on the water. The others hit the searats hard, knocking some of them into the waves.

The Regiment's front rank stood up to launch a second volley. Liofe was calling out at hares by name, telling them to keep it up, and other such things. Roaveen glanced at the old hare many times, thinking he would make an excellent sergeant.

The second set of volleys hit much more accurately, mainly because the confidence was growing in the ranks, and the searats were nearing faster and faster. The captain himself was in the lead boat, swearing at the rowers to close the far-range gap.

Roaveen flinched. The searats were clever; they saw that once it would come to hand-to-hand fighting, the searats would slay them all.

With a bellow of fury, he ran to the water edge. Krieg snapped at the Regiment to continue, but even he was unsure of what Roaveen planned to do.

Roaveen howled curses at the searats from where he was. Suddenly, he bent down, uttering groans of effort. To the hares in the Regiment, they thought he was hit with an arrow, but were then doubly astonished.

The heir of Salamandastron had risen again, a giant boulder in his paws. Veins on his arms bulged at the strain. With a cry of wrath, he planted his body so he stared straight at the leading boat. The captain, seeing the danger, shrieked while pushing his way to the back of the boat.

Roaveen hurled the stone with all his might. It flew straight and true at the captain. For a second, everything seemed to slow down. Roaveen and his Regiment held their breath, as did the searats in the other boats.

The second ended with a great _crash_, as the boulder slammed into the boat, killing everyone in the front, including the captain. Eventually, the boat sank, the survivors swimming back to the ship. The other boats hesitated, and followed.

The Regiment cheered mightily. They had faced, fought, and seen off a force for the first time as a unit. And no casualties had been taken.

Roaveen turned back to his hares, smiling broadly, "Let's go home."

All the way back to the Mountain, the leverets talked excitedly amongst each other. The veterans merely looked pleased, each knowing that Roaveen had turned the day.

Their return was amazing. Everyone wanted to know what had happened. Milos and Werise, at the head of the relief force, were looked at with admiration for their effort, but there was no denying who truly was given the attention.

Roaveen was a hero, with wreaths hanging over his neck, and light in his eyes. Oakfur came down and personally congratulated them all.

Only Korari sat by, sullenly. He foresaw that Roaveen was fast taking over the Mountain.

And all he could do was sit by and watch it happen.

Now, more than ever, Korari saw the effects of the victory. As small as it was, the Mountain Regiment had shown it was successful. At present, it was training with light lances, but ever since that day, they symbolically had a sling and a pouch of stones ready if ever it would come to that in a fight.

It had also grown. Despite the dozens of youngsters wanting to join, Roaveen insisted on taking only thirty additional recruits, who immediately learned the drills of slinging in order to catch up to the others. Sergeant Liofe was given that new group as his platoon.

Oakfur had completely forgotten about Thornback, and was proudly looking on to what Roaveen was accomplishing. He turned a deaf ear now, to the complaints by Korari that the Long Patrol would diminish, and eventually wither to nothing. Indeed, the officers doubted that it would happen, as Roaveen had taken so few new recruits.

Korari knew better. Roaveen had completely assured his status in Salamandastron.

One night, as he lay sleeping, a dream came about that would completely change the fate of the brothers.


	13. Chapter 13

13

Ætharr and the allied armies were flourishing. During the past few weeks, they had received reinforcements in the form of forty grim martens, who were put under the command of Horal.

Ætharr was especially glad for the additions of the two theigns from Calador. Aletorix in particular was a very experienced warrior and leader. He had his lands to the northwest of Æthelly, which led to frontier land: an area of border raids by an extremely wild and savage tribe called the Falcarragh. These vermin were savage and fearless in battle, but were very unpredictable. Their leader was Tiarnan, a leader as feared as he was respected. He had gained a reputation for courage and skill and strength among friend and foe alike.

Leofir was useful too. He had a lot of news about Ælfer's regime. The Calador settlements were still being shied away from by the Millars, but quite a few isolated homes had been plundered and burned. Ælfer himself had disowned Ædall, and then had forcefully taken a new wife, who was pregnant with Ælfer's baby. He was starting his own lineage.

Ætharr was stunned and outraged. The Calador land _must _be liberated, he fumed inwardly. But to do that, he would have to assault Æthelly, a city that had withstood several siege attempts in the Calador tribe's history.

Hearing the news also made him think of an heir. As it stood, Ædall would lead in case of Ætharr's death, but they both fought the same war. What if there arose a situation where both had been slain?

Ætharr, with the agreement from Ferric, Aletorix and Tran, decided that he needed a mate, and a child. Leofir and Horal protested, saying he was still very young to think about that, but while he saw their argument, Ætharr knew that he would need an heir sooner or later.

That entire aside, they had not been too active in the war. Oorlog was mustering his forces, and the allies recovered their strength. Jinn benefited more than anyone there: he was given time to relocate, reorganize, and review his broad network of agents. Ætharr always wondered who these beasts under Jinn's orders were, but trusted Jinn completely.

Jinn, confirming Leofir's stories, also stated that he had sent a few agents into the Hunan territory to scout out the area.

After the fateful council that decided how the army would be led, the units had been organized, and placed under their commanders in all but actuality.

Soon, the three leaders realized, they would move to organize the plan that they had agreed upon.

In the meantime, Ætharr and Aletorix started their own little campaign. For Ætharr, it was very welcome to be among a large group of Caladors again. His friends and veterans thought likewise.

Aletorix' forces were well-hardened troops from countless shield walls in raids into such tribes as the Millars, or the Loptrio tribe, a tribe much more cunning than the Millars, and so, twice as deadly.

But these Caladors were the hard warriors who had repelled these villainous tribes. They were those warriors you always hoped to command in a battle, knowing that they would only accept victory or death.

Oorlog was one of many warlords in the Hunan clan. This made them very unpredictable, as there was little unity among the warlords unless there stood a chance for personal gain. Such was the case with the war going on at the moment. Oorlog was reputed to have almost sixteen hundred foebeasts against them, but fully a third were questionable in their loyalty to Oorlog. The name of the particular chief in alliance with Oorlog was Dwong, an old dog fox whom, based on Jinn's agents, was being coerced and intimidated to join Oorlog's campaign. Ætharr had hoped that Dwong would try to fight, which would thus eliminate a third of Oorlog's force out of the picture, but then Jinn brought news that Dwong was resented by those beneath him: in short, he was a dying regime whose last breath was being used to move Oorlog's sails forward.

Aletorix and Ætharr thus decided to rob Dwong of more breath in order to weaken Oorlog.

The two of them often led raids into Dwong's shrinking territory. At the same time, Blackaxe and Ferric raided the lands of Oorlog, attempting to slow the process of mustering his forces.

Blackaxe took a great liking to the raids. He saw it as vengeance for many generations of war, grief, and terror. Ferric, as a theign, was used to taking orders from a lord, so he went along without any complain.

Ætharr would have liked to keep Ferric, for he owed a lot to the weasel, but he knew it was best for him to be commanded by the marten lord.

In the meantime, Ætharr and Aletorix set out once again, taking fifty of Aletorix' reinforcements, along with all of Ætharr's veterans and friends. They headed to Dwong's territory, passing through the hill valleys and green ridges of the old warlord's lands. The lands were poorly cultivated in many parts, and most of it was still wild. Apparently, Dwong's regime had been better soldiers than farmers.

At one such village, the raiding party went in to find the place half deserted. There were no young children, only a half dozen adults and a quite a few elders.

Ætharr glanced at Aletorix. Either the inhabitants had been forewarned, or it was a dead town. It was their call at this point.

Aletorix took a long look around them, and his face took up a troubled expression. He shook his head quickly.

Ætharr took the older beast's advice. He gave the signal to get out.

Rather than going through the town, or going back the way they came, the Calador raiding party ducked past the hovels and went to the nearby woods. It was one of those things that Ætharr had learned from Ferric and Aletorix. An ambush almost always comes from behind, or from the two sides. So instead of going forward or backward, you go to the side, where many are likely hiding. This way, you had a good chance of crushing the ambush before it ever began.

There were no creatures there. At least none that they saw: it was enough for Aletorix and Ætharr.

"Move out?" Aletorix asked Ætharr.

The young weasel nodded quickly. The Calador raiders set out across the green hills.

Ædall and Horal were the rearguard, scanning the terrain around them. In truth, it was a very dangerous position to be in for those who were unfamiliar with the land.

"Keep your eyes skinned for any loose grass." Horal muttered to Ædall.

"The grass?"

"Aye. There's likely a hiding hole out here that they dug."

Ædall shuddered, "We could be walking on a system of tunnels, and not know it!"

Just as the words were spoken, a yell sounded the air. Out of instinct, the Caladors formed a tight shield wall all around.

A troop of all sorts, most of them polecats and stoats, shot a hail of vicious arrows at the shield wall.

Ætharr smiled as the thump of arrows on shields sounded, with no uttered curse. "None wounded." He stated to Aletorix.

"Aye, but we're still surrounded."

Stunned, Ætharr could see scattered clusters of vermin grouping together in an ever-closing circle round the would-be raiders.

Ædall threw out a war cry. Suddenly, the whole Calador unit was bellowing out chants like, "Calador!" and "Ætharr!" The forces around them halted briefly, their faces frozen, neither scornful nor scared. They were confused.

Jinn suddenly had an idea. Moving over to Ætharr, he whispered urgently in his ear. The others were curious at what was going on; were they to attack?

They were more bewildered when Ætharr took a white strip of cloth, tied it to his axe, and waved it in the air.

Everyone was stunned at this. Some of the ambushers huddled together and spoke quietly and earnestly. Finally, one middle-aged polecat stepped forward, completely unarmed. Ætharr did likewise, handing his axes and hatchets to Jinn.

The Ealdor in Exile and the tattooed leader of the ambushers took steps ever closer to each other. Everyone else held his breath.

Finally, Ætharr nodded formally at the elder creature, "I am Ætharr of Calador. I am the Rightful Ealdor of the Calador territories."

The older beast returned the gesture, "I am Küchulår, first captain to Äal of the Hunan tribe."

Ætharr paused, "Is this the land of Äal? Not Dwong's land?"

Küchulår smiled, "This was once his land. Äal took it from him two seasons previously."

"So soon?"

"Indeed. He tried to come this way to retake it not six days ago. We fought here, and Dwong was defeated: nearly killed by an arrow, but it will cripple him for life. It hit his lower back."

Jinn was surprised at that piece of information. He had plainly not known of it.

Ætharr was surprised. Oorlog would surely have completely taken away Dwong's power by now! Dwong could be dead right this moment, and he did not know of it. Had these past raids been for nothing?

Ætharr glanced at the old captain, "Is Äal with Oorlog?"

Küchulår snorted bitterly, "We hate the upstart! He's getting us into a war that we don't want a part of. Of course, only Äal thinks that way. Everyone else is on in it.' He grinned dryly, 'Three thousand of em'. Against you, Lord Ætharr."

Ætharr was already thinking quickly, "How many spearmen can Lord Äal offer?

Küchulår thought of it, and laughed, "Ah! So that's what you want now, eh? No wonder you were seeking Dwong's lands." Those Hunan within earshot chuckled duly.

Ætharr raised an eyebrow. He was getting very used to negotiations now, "Suppose we crush the Hunan alliance, take their land, and move on to bigger things. Where shall you stand in this?"

The polecat scratched at his neck, where a white scar was evident, "You should come with me to Äal."

Ætharr smiled in thanks, "I'm glad you're considering it at least."

Küchulår shrugged, "I've personally heard of you and your alliance with Vireo and Jeri. I'd be glad to give my spears to your service in the name of ending this tomfoolery that Oorlog is running, but I don't know about Äal. And he has our oaths." With this, he indicated the creatures around him.

Ætharr glanced back at Jinn. He had taken count of the creatures surrounding them; but this was no proof of what this Äal had to offer.

He looked back at Küchulår. He was very much like Aletorix, in a way. Ætharr was suddenly curious at what would happen if the two met.

The polecat lifted his left forepaw, claws outstretched. It was obviously a signal for the troops in his army; they sheathed weapons, and hurried round the ring of shields to stand behind Küchulår.

Who then nodded at Ætharr, "You can leave. I shall have a messenger sent for you if Äal wants to talk. Can you guarantee that no harm will come to them from Blackaxe?" Some creatures behind him shuddered at the thought of suffering at the hands of that intelligent, but vicious pine marten.

Ætharr nodded solemnly, "I will guarantee it."

The two leaders shook hands, and went back to their separate forces. Ætharr muttered to Aletorix and Ædall, "Get them organized and ready to move out."

"Lord Ætharr!"

The Ealdor in Exile turned. Küchulår gave an odd gesture with his forepaws. He would beat his chest once with both paws, and outstretch them again. It was an old symbol given after the negotiations had been successful.

Ætharr, guessing that he shouldn't repeat the same gesture, made the Calador gesture of all claws outstretched but for the ring claw.

Küchulår and his forces left, conversing about these Calador weasels. Ætharr's forces, too, were discussing these Hunan beasts.

Blackaxe was furious at even the thought of welcoming a Hunan messenger, but knew that if there were any Hunan warlords on their side, so many more spears at their service.

Ibos was eager for more allies. He had been raised by his father to be a diplomat as much as a warrior. Plus, he was young, younger even than Ætharr; the prospect of a grand alliance sounded glorious.

All that was to be done now was to wait for Äal's answer.


	14. Chapter 14

14

Judos was stunned. There, standing in front of him and Log-a-Log were Jander, Raga, Skipper and four of his otters, and, the most surprising of all, Mellor.

Marros and Redmund came out of the dark, and four shrew-guards came running up.

Raga pointed accusingly at Judos, "A fine and merry chase you've been leading us on. To think that I had to go through all this after a thief!"

Log-a-Log stared at the mouse warrior, "Hush, Raga of Redwall. I know you well, and I know as you do that now is not the time to discuss this. Come, we shall all get some sleep."

Reluctantly, the newcomers went off to the camp, guided by Log-a-Log and his guards.

Mellor stayed back with Judos. The hedgehog was obviously wondering whether to punch his friend, or give him a hug. On the one hand, Judos had escaped, leaving Mellor alone. Then again, it had given Mellor a way out.

Judos solved his friend's conflict, "Look, Mellor, I'm sorry for all this. It was a real hard moment…"

"Aw, save it, mate. Yore father an' all. But that's the past now; Judos, the two of us could get out of here now!"

Judos nodded. No question about it, he would get out of here. But Log a Log still had the sword, and he wanted to take Marros with him. If he had been the young shrew, he'd want the same thing.

When he explained, Mellor nodded, "So be it, then. But why do you want to take this shrew Marros along?"

It was a little hard for Judos to explain, for some reason. He liked the shrew, but he also had a strange feeling that he was made to be taken along by them.

He remembered a part of the fateful dream he had had. It had been after the vision of the strange weasel with the axes. Beside him, on a lower ledge, had been a young shrew, its face held low.

But that couldn't be explained, for then they would delve into something he held very personal. So he simply stated, "He's a good matey."

Mellor shrugged, smiling broadly, "Any mate o' yours is a pal of mine. I'll go get him, and you take that sword. If it means so much to ye." With that, and a clap on the otter's shoulder, the hedgehog lumbered into the night.

Judos stood still for a moment, stomaching the new plan of action. Then he sprang into the night as though automatic. He knew where Log a Log had his tent; he would take the sword fast, and get out quicker.

As he crept toward the tent, he suddenly realized; Log a Log would likely had given Raga the sword back! And he had no idea where Raga was at the moment.

Just then, out of the darkness came two figures. Judos froze, and then dropped onto the ground flat as a board.

The figures came closer. Judos tried to stay still, but he was sure they had seen him.

"Oy, Judos, why are you lying down on the job?" it was Mellor, with Marros! The two of them were carrying haversacks, and Marros was holding something with both hands.

It was the sword of Martin the Warrior.

Judos drew it, staring at the blade that was covered in runes. He felt a strange feeling inside of him as he gazed at the sword.

Then, without a word, he sheathed it, "Time to go."

It was a curious experience for them; there was little or no light, and often the forest played tricks on them.

Eventually, they made camp on a hill overlooking the shrew camp. The sun was rising, a beautiful tapestry of pink and a trace of gold in the red of the clouds.

Judos and Mellor stared at it, while Marros snored. They were careful to wake the shrew just after it had ended.

Now was the time of running. The Gousim and the Redwallers will have awoken. Judos fervently hoped that the boat they had sent adrift would be enough to fool them. Personally, he didn't think so. It was going to be a rough race.

They set off at a tremendous pace for their stature. They ran fast, dreading the sound of the others' footsteps. They did not even look at each other; so intent were they in trying to get away.

Judos was in the lead. He ducked as a branch came into his vision. A little voice inside of him was screaming to cover up their tracks, but due to the anxiety of being caught, and the exhaustion his legs felt, he was in autopilot.

Mellor and Marros were at the state of collapse. They were not able to match their companion in running, and were now falling behind.

Reluctantly, they lowered their pace into a jog, screaming at Judos to stop.

The young otter, however, mistook their voices for calls of the hunters after him, and anxiety began to kick in.

All of a sudden, his stomach rose up to his mouth. He tried to ignore it, and tried to move his feet, but they did not hit ground. He stopped in astonishment, but suddenly found he could not breathe. In growing panic, he kicked wildly, his rudder flailing.

Judos felt a surface break on his head, and he gasped air. It was then that he realized that he had fallen into a pit filled with water.

Mellor and Marros came up by the edge of the pit. They were bewildered, unsure of what to do now.

"What is this?" Judos spluttered upwards to his friend. Mellor shrugged, "I think we could help you out with some kind of stick."

It was the last thing he said before blood-curdling yells sounded. Marros leapt with fright. Mellor looked round wildly, terrified, "Hell's teeth, what is that?"

Judos knew no more, for something hard hit him on his head, half-stunning him.

The pit floor rose up, picking him up with it. A net!

Judos heard shouts. They were just as quickly replaced with jeers of triumph. Judos blinked, getting his eyesight back, and was filled with a dreadful sight.

Vermin. Weasels, ferrets, foxes, stoats, rats, and polecats. All were grinning and fingering weapons. Two were chaining Marros, a lump on his head, and a cut on his shoulder.

Suddenly, Judos was terribly scared. Was this what Varrus had always worried would happen if he would leave and try and find his mother's killer? Now he, Marros and Mellor were prisoners.

Mellor.

When the otter looked to the right, he saw that only he and Marros were prisoners.

Mellor was lying on his side, a deep gash in his neck. Judos' former friend's eyes were glazed in death.

Judos screamed, tears streaming down his face. Even as the nearest vermin knocked him into unconsciousness, he was weeping uncontrollably.

Mellor, the hedgehog who had been his first and only friend, had always been there, for him. The two had plotted uncountable escapes; they had hidden from punishment, and had always been together. Yet for all that, Judos had never been able to tell his friend about his past, or many other things.

Now it was too late to tell him, for he was dead.

The vermin carried their prisoners to a clearing in the forest. A small group was already there, and they marvelled at the sword brought in by the hunters' leader.

Together, the combined vermin band travelled over hills, across rivers, and all the while covering their tracks.

Eventually, they came to a wooden fortress, guarded by wooden palisades. Rooftops were plentiful, all wooden or pieces of shale. A cloud of smoke was coming out, as if there was a public fireplace ablaze.

Judos was still unconscious, having been beaten aplenty to ensure no help.

His captors took him and Marros to a cage at the far end of the fort. It was huge, with wooden bars covered with iron sheeting. Very sophisticated in its construction, it housed many different creatures, from mice to ferrets, even a leveret or two.

Judos and Marros were hurled into their new prison, the gate securely locked.

They were prisoners of the vermin now.


	15. Chapter 15

15

"Brothers three, who's reckoning would come Hath done worse than should have done 

_One brother gone to the wild forestry,_

_Another lives in gluttony_

_The third is at the crossroads, one foot on each road_

_The reckoning time long delayed will be_

_For a worse strike to waylay_

_Beware the three-axed killer_

_Beware your souls and discontent_

_Your feud will not go unpunished_

_For the time of violence and death will draw_

_You must reunite to end your flaw_

_For that alone will lessen the pain of war_

_And will determine which brother will end in the fore"_

Korari would never forget those lines, even as he rehearsed them. He now stood with Roaveen, Oakfur, and the Long Patrol officers.

Roselyn was the first to break the silence, "Well, it looks like things are looking for the worse."

Jackers and Seahawk were silent, remembering Thornback.

A new officer, Ensign Barras, was contemplating the crossroads line. She came up with a question, "When it refers to the one foot on each road in the crossroads, does that mean that Korari is wondering which brother to stay loyal to?"

Roaveen raised an eyebrow, not understanding a thing, but Korari understood. He still missed his brother, but he was sick of the fighting he and Roaveen were getting into. Plus, he couldn't help feeling admiration for his older brother, the great warrior in the making.

Jackers suddenly glanced up, "And that last line. By Jove, is it talking about which brother will end up ruling the blinking base, wot?

Oakfur frowned, "There is no dispute; Roaveen is the heir of the mountain, and he will not lose that inheritance."

Jackers was silent. Seahawk realized what Jackers was thinking. Roaveen was a brilliant soldier, but he didn't use his head in other fields, such as ruling efficiently. However, none could compete against Thornback's competency to rule, even if they could outfight him. Seahawk and Jackers both thought that being a great ruler and thinker was much more advantageous to being a savage warrior. Despite the hampers of youth and brashness, Thornback had a lot of promise to be wise beyond his years.

Korari knew that too. Both his older brothers had inherited different things from their father: on the one hand, Roaveen, with Oakfur's entire old war prowess within his grasp. On the other hand, Thornback, with Oakfur's calculating mind and cleverness set in his future. What did that leave Korari? What did he have to inherit from his father?

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

Abbott Varrus sat at his desk, wondering about a great many things. Redwall gave care to wanderers and vagabonds; it also welcomed new members. There were about ten who stated that they wanted to permanently remain at the Abbey. Recently, Brother Gores had uncovered something wrong among the beehives, and was struggling to find out the truth about it. In the meantime, no news had come from Raga or the others. What was going on?

Varrus wondered whether he should have kept them all at Redwall. He had decided that Judos was to leave.

It would have been fine, too. Raga and the others might have grumbled and worried for a few days, but they'd let Judos go.

But Judos had taken the sword of Martin the Warrior with him. And that could not be overlooked by Raga.

Varrus wondered if he had been right in sending Mellor with them, but then decided that if he hadn't, Mellor would have run off on his own, without the protection of Jander and Skipper.

Varrus glanced at the door, which was knocking. He called out, "Come on in."

Mother Sara came in. She normally just walked in, knowing that Varrus didn't mind. What was wrong?

Mother Sara came in, "A word, Father Abbott?"

The old otter smiled at his badger friend, "Gladly, Sara. So what is it that you would like to discuss?"

Sara paused, "I have a message from Salamandastron."

"What does it say?"

"It says that Thornback, the second son of Oakfur, has run away from the mountain. If he comes to you, he requests you to urge him to go back home."

Varrus glanced at the Badger Mother of Redwall, "Did Oakfur send this message?"

Sara paused, and shook her head, "I don't know. The writer is anonymous. No one actually gave me the letter; it was just there, nailed to a tree."

Varrus paused, "Whoever did this went through great effort to have this seen. I say we discuss it now."

He stood up, wondering why his back suddenly hurt so much: he knew was an old creature, yet this had never happened to him before. What was wrong?

Sara glanced at her friend, "By the way, do you recall the number of creatures we have cared for these past few seasons; some of them are not to be trusted."

Varrus shrugged, "I will personally see if they are fit to remain within our abbey."

Brother Gores came bustling up, quickly knocking on the door. His face was white with shock, "Father Abbott, there is someone dead in this abbey!"

Varrus was bowled over. A death? But who, and how?

Mother Sara stared at Brother Gores, "Hurry, quick. Bring us there."

Brother Gores lead them to the cellars, which were normally in charge of Arly Punto, a large hedgehog, mostly found doing manual labour in the Abbey, or heavily sampling his October Ale.

Arly was standing at the door of the cellars, a look of bewilderment and shock on his face. Varrus was doubly hit with emotional pain; he had never seen the hedgehog so worked up. Arly was a stoic worker who did not ask for much in life. Now his beloved cellar was a scene of death.

He sniffed suddenly, took a huge drink from a jug of ale, and visibly swayed, "I don't know what 'appened, Vather. I was bringin' a barrel up to the kitchens, ya know? Then t'next thing I know, I'm here with a b-b-b-body in my own cellar!"

Varrus nodded sympathetically. Arly, with his very thick eastern Mossflower accent, coupled with the slurred speech of an inebriated beast, sounded desperate and helpless.

The dead body was in the centre of the room. It looked so out of place with the barrels of drink and lit fireplace. Varrus nearly felt ill as he stared at the scene. Mother Sara beside him stiffened, her fur almost on end.

It was an old squirrel, wearing a filthy habit. It was easy for Varrus to recognize the squirrel, for it only had half a tail, and what was left was wispy and scraggly. It was a Brother named Slade, sometimes known as Slade the Sane. It was a cruel, ironic joke, for Slade had gibbered, shrieked, and hit himself in the chest many times. He usually stayed in a solitary room that became known amongst the Brothers and Sisters of Redwall as the "Mad Chamber", for it was there where Slade would indulge in his madness, howling, stuttering, and laughing hysterically and fearfully at once. It made a very unearthly noise. Many a Dibbun had suffered nightmares because of those sounds.

Varrus was hit harder than most would think. He had known Slade for a long time, even longer than he had known Mother Sara. He and Slade had grown up in the Abbey, he had become Abbott, and Slade had gone senile. Everyone in Redwall knew that, and most were satisfied enough with that story. But some questioned the massive blanks in the story, but no one thought too much of it.

Varrus began to weep as the body of Slade was wrapped in a white sheet.

Arly stumbled in, along with Foremole Gampur, the leader of the mole crew in Redwall.

Arly was still drinking deeply, and Foremole offered his condolences, "Hurr, Oi be turribly surry for this hurr deed. 'E foinally killed hisself."

Abbott Varrus looked up suddenly, a strange fire in his eyes, "Slade was mad, but he would _never_ have done this to himself! And this also wasn't old age. He was in good physical health yesterday, and there is nothing here that killed him by accident."

Foremole and Arly blanched visibly; Mother Sara gazed shocked at Varrus, "Father Abbott, surely you cannot…"

"…I'm absolutely positive that Brother Slade was murdered." Varrus said grimly.

Arly snapped out of it, "I'll keep anyone from leaving the Abbey." He stumbled out, followed by Foremole.

Varrus looked at the pale cloth concealing Slade. He tried desperately to think back to all the memories he had with the squirrel, but he could make no sense in his mind. He realized that he needed to calm down, and fulfil his duty as Abbott of Redwall Abbey.

He stood up, dusted himself off, and turned to face Mother Sara, "I need you to organize Slade's funeral. I will personally deal with finding the murderer."

Perhaps Mother Sara was simply overborne by this murder, but she could have sworn that there was a strange look in Abbott Varrus' eyes. It was very hard to identify, because it showed a large amount of different emotions. Some was anger at this savagery, another looked like reverie as to who could have done it. But one small bit of emotion seemed to say, at least to her, that Abbott Varrus was not completely shocked by this. Had he always been suspicious? Maybe he had actually predicted it.

Mother Sara knew that she could not dwell on such things now. She went to organize a burial.

Abbott Varrus turned to Sister Val, "I'll want an autopsy before the burial. We need to know what to killed him."

Sister Val nodded faintly, and organized the body to be brought to the Infirmary.

Now there was only Abbot Varrus left. The old otter suddenly felt like a drink of water, or better yet, tea.

He went to the kitchens to get himself a cup of warm tea, and went back to his room. He reflected on how much had changed in the briefest moment. The middle son of Oakfur had left Salamandastron; he was feeling a strange pain between his shoulder blades, and Slade the Sane had been murdered.

Varrus suddenly thought back to earlier times in his long life, and the time he had known Slade.

'No, no, not that time!' a voice began to shriek hysterically in his mind. As much as he tried to block it out, the voice screamed and screamed and screamed inside his head. All of a sudden, the screaming stopped, replaced with a strange gibbering and giggling.

Varrus suddenly realized that it was the voice of Slade.

The Abbott hurtled into his bed, smothering his ears in his pillow. Still the hellish voice did not cease.

It did not cease the entire night.

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

The massive clouds, making it look very eerie in Mossflower, snuffed out the moon.

He trudged along through the thick forests. Strange buzzing filled his ears, and he tried to slap away the mosquitoes. He was almost maddened by the high-pitched noise.

Suddenly he tripped, falling into water up to his ankles. A puddle of water was there, yet it wasn't raining. However, he chose not to think about it. Darkness hampered his vision even as he found a hollow in a nearby tree to sleep in.

Suddenly a high-pitched shrieking broke the silence, and something hard hit him on the head. He fell down forward, even as ropes bound his forepaws and hind paws together. He tried to scream, but as he breathed in, something hard hit him again. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was an unrecognisable creature grinning with small fangs.


	16. Chapter 16

16

A messenger had arrived from Äal, in the form of Küchulår's brother. He looked like Küchulår, though younger and less scarred.

The message was broken up into two parts. One was from Küchulår, the other from Äal. Äal stated that he was willing to speak with Ealdor Ætharr, but due to Oorlog's suspicions, they should meet in secrecy.

Küchulår was a message of greeting, but also of Äal's status among the other Hunan warlords. Äal had a total of four hundred warriors, along with about another hundred from the levy. The old polecat was careful to mention that his lord would only ever allow two hundred to leave the territory to fight with the allies. That is, if Äal agreed to ally himself with them.

Ætharr was grateful that Lord Äal had considered the offer of alliance. He appealed to Blackaxe to come with him so as to show that there was no ill will. Blackaxe, however, was very stubborn with his anger against the Hunan tribe. The marten saw that it was useful, but the hatred in his heart was strong for the Hunan.

Ætharr eventually won him over, especially when he hinted at the fact that he owed an immense debt to the Ealdor in Exile. Ibos wanted to come too, but Coldbane and Blackback begged him to stay behind and hold charge of the fort and the allied forces. The Vireo heir accepted grudgingly, and so it was then that Ætharr, Blackback, Ædall, Redjaw, and eight bodyguards went to the rendezvous point. All were nervous of such a small amount, but they were eager to win Äal over.

The rendezvous point was very nearly on the borderline of the Hunan and Jeri border. It was surrounded by an evergreen copse.

Äal was already there, along with Küchulår and twelve soldiers. There was a small fire, along with a very appetizing smell.

Äal was an interesting sort of person. A polecat like Küchulår, he was slightly younger than his captain. A kind of look was about him; the kind of look someone might have when he realises he is the only one not cheating at a board game. There was a jewelled knife in his belt, evidently a symbol of his leadership.

Äal came forward, staring at Ædall, "Lord of Calador, I thank you for coming here to speak with me."

Ætharr stepped forward from the shadows, "As Ealdor of Calador I am honoured that you've allowed me to speak my piece."

Äal was surprised at the similarity between the cousins; behind him Küchulår smiled broadly.

Blackaxe stepped forward, a grim expression on his face. Äal looked at him apprehensively. Ætharr was suddenly nervous of the marten's grudge taking over his judgement.

All were silent, each wondering what was going to happen between Hunan and Jeri. Both sides reached for weapons, fearing the need to break them up.

Blackaxe suddenly moved again. Dropping to one knee, he nodded at the polecat.

No one had expected that. Ædall, Ætharr, and Redjaw knew that demonstration would have been a muster of all of Blackaxe's humility and respect.

Äal was gracious about it. Pulling the marten up, he embraced the large warlord and gave him due honours for his position.

The smell that the group had noticed earlier was supper. Fresh pigeon on the spit, along with good ale and hot bread.

Ætharr and his group tucked in fitfully, while Lord Äal's group continued to eat. It was indeed, a very pleasant start, eating good food in kind company, listening to the natural sounds of nature.

After a good half hour, Äal broke off his conversation with Ædall, and looked at the Calador and Jeri chieftains, "And now for business. I think we all know where to start."

Ætharr glanced at Blackaxe, "Oorlog."

Blackaxe handed some papers to Äal, "We have gained considerable news about the whereabouts and size of the army we shall face."

The Hunan lord took the papers gingerly, reading the written information carefully. As he read, he pointed out specific segments to a scribe, who wrote them down quickly.

As he read, Ætharr spoke for the benefit of the other Hunan beasts, "Oorlog is stationed in the territory of his strongest ally; a polecat by the name of Klinus. The entire forces Oorlog will command equal up to three thousand."

Äal visibly flinched, and Küchulår fingered his sword, as though he was expecting three thousand of Oorlog's soldiers to spring at him.

Äal stared at Ætharr, "I have a force of four hundred warriors, of which half will always stay to defend my kingdom."

Ætharr glanced at his cousin, and at Blackaxe before saying, "The force we have is almost half of Oorlog's number. However, it is an army of allies. Calador, Vireo, and Jeri."

Äal looked at the young weasel, "That is not your only cause for war, though. You want to take back the Calador throne."

Ætharr nodded curtly.

Äal frowned, "Yet why should you wrap the tribes in a personal vendetta you have sworn yourself to?"

The Calador leader was surprised. Why indeed was he hurling the banner of war on the fields of non-Caladors? What if he had not made alliances with Jeri and Vireo? Would things have gone to this without him?

No.

He had drawn a blade across his paw to invoke a blood feud, and in doing so, he was soaking the land of other peoples in blood. For some reason it felt strangely triumphant to him that his vengeance was shaking the tribes into turmoil.

But how to say that to Äal?

He looked squarely at the polecat, and told him an honest truth "I once had a dream when I was younger. I stood on a high mountain, and saw a mass of creatures. They howled their salute to me, and fought to give the better homage. I believe that this is what I am fated to have, and I will have it. Already, I have plans for the lands of the Millar, and that is merely the beginning. Salamandastron is the mountain of my vision. I have news that the ruler is old, and his sons are divided. I will become the great conqueror of my time, and will go where others failed."

Ædall was staring at his cousin, finally understanding the great ambition in him. Blackaxe was glancing at the Ealdor in Exile as though he was already sweeping in bloody ambition through the lands of the tribes. Äal was completely silent, looking deep into Ætharr's face for something.

Finally, he said, "I think, that you are going to win, whatever the odds."

Ætharr held his breath, just as Äal held out his paw, "We shall fight this war together."

Ætharr shook it, and the little group raised a cheer at the prospect of this new alliance.

Ergot came forward with four parchments, all of them ready for signature. But Äal had another way of thinking. He offered the most solemn oath among the Hunan tribe.

Laying his paw across the jewelled knife he carried, he uttered an oath of loyalty to the allies of Calador, Vireo, and Jeri. Ætharr took the knife, swearing likewise.

Suddenly, the sentries uttered a shriek as they were hit with darts.

Ætharr and Äal were taken completely by surprise. A group of shrieking creatures came out of the darkness.

Ædall swung his mighty axe, slaying one of the forerunners. Äal plunged a spear into another. Küchulår bayed like a wolf as he disembowelled foebeasts with his sword.

It was completely disorganized; it was a street brawl.

Ætharr, who had only brought one of his long axes, swung it efficiently. A weasel came at him, all tattoo and scar.

Ætharr smiled as he feinted right, and went left, swinging at the creature's neck. Surprisingly, the weasel was much quicker than he had thought, and sent his huge mace crashing at the hilt.

The axe broke.

Ætharr was stunned and outraged. The axe had never failed him. Now all he had was one long axe and his hand axe.

But as those thoughts went through his head, it suddenly exploded with pain. Someone had smashed a club on his head. Ætharr crumpled.

The creatures called out in a coded tongue. The creatures fled, to the surprise of Äal and the two groups.

"Noooooooo!" Ædall howled as he saw a half-conscious Ætharr be carried away by two foebeasts.

Äal was devastated, and watched as Ædall attempted to run after them, even though his leg was bleeding badly.

Küchulår and Blackaxe grabbed Ædall bodily. He scratched and bit at them, "He's my cousin!" he wailed as he kicked Küchulår away.

Blackaxe picked him up and shook him, "There's nothing you can do with that leg! You'll die of exhaustion! You have to wait!"

Ædall sighed with grief and anger. A Calador soldier came up to him, "Lord Ædall, Ætharr said that in case of his death or absence, you lead the Calador forces."

Ædall nodded grimly, "And we will find Lord Ætharr. Because without 'im, this war is doomed."

"" "" "" "" "" ""

Ætharr had regained full consciousness by the time the creatures came to a halt by their lair. He knew who had captured him the moment he saw the flag. Oorlog!

There was a huge cage filled with starving creatures. A guard fumbled with some keys, and the door opened.

Ætharr was slung in, followed by laughter.

He looked at the creatures around him. They kept no eye contact, except for one; an otter about his own age.

He went over to him, "Why are you here?"

The otter said nothing, just stared at him.

Ætharr wondered if the animal was dumb, or crazed by imprisonment. He looked familiar, though.

At last, the otter spoke, "You're the one with the axes."

Ætharr was utterly confused, "How do you know that I fight with axes?"

The otter was looking surprised; "I once had a dream with you in it."

Ætharr then realised where he had seen this otter. He had been running through the forest, he had appeared, and he had been shown in many different actions. But why? Was he fated to help him?

He looked at the otter. Dreams and visions, and other kinds of foresight were not to be taken lightly, not after the red sun.

"What was this dream?" He asked humbly.

The otter looked guarded, but then started to wonder if it should be told to this weasel. Ætharr noticed a shrew sleeping at the otter's feet.

He waved his hand, as if pushing his question out of importance, "It doesn't matter for now. But could you tell me your name?"

The otter paused, but then relented, "I am Judos, son of Judos."

The young Ealdor in Exile smiled, "I am Ætharr. Ætharr of Calador."

End of 'Book 1: The Rise of Calador' in the Ætharr trilogy Stay tuned for 'Ætharr of Calador Book 2' (Title to be added on later) 

-Bob Stage


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